


Foxy Lady

by UWotMaTe



Series: Grave [2]
Category: BBS - Fandom, Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Crime Solving AU, Forensics, Graphic, Graphic descriptions of violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Part Two, Psychology, Slow Burn, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UWotMaTe/pseuds/UWotMaTe
Summary: People aren’t always what they seem. Our investigative team sets out to solve the murder of a flirtatious bar owner while unknowingly walking beneath the shadowed threat of a much bigger problem.





	1. One

The day just hadn't been going well. She'd woken up an hour later than she was supposed to. She'd lost her wallet and her keys. She'd nearly forgotten Sam at school. To try and avoid traffic, she took a new tour and had ultimately gotten herself lost. And to top it all off, she'd gotten herself stuck in the mud on the side of a nearly deserted road. It just wasn't her day! 

Tessa let out a heavy sigh and let her head fall onto her steering wheel. The horn let out a startled beep. She could feel the fluffy pink dice bobbing into her frizzy hair. She wanted to rip them apart and light them on fire! She sat up and put on her best smile.

“You ok, mom?” Her daughter asked softly. 

Sam hated it when her mom got like this. She could get scary. Harmless, but scary. Like one of those slasher movies. Sam knew that her mom would never hurt her, verbally or physically, but her mom did have a tendency to become unpredictable and impulsive. Once, she'd gotten so mad that she had painted her entire body bright pink and ran around claiming to be an honorary member of the band, P!nk. This was a mild event. She could get worse, much worse. 

Tessa grinned at Sam and felt her anger wash away bit by bit. She loved Sam. Before she'd had Sam, she'd been pregnant five times. She'd lost all of them a week or less before they were due. But not Sammy. Sam had been a premature baby, and that may have been the only thing that saved her. Sam was her little miracle, her only child, and every now and again, when she got mad like this, she'd remember that and the irritation would bleed away.

“You want pizza? Why don't you and I go get some Pizza Hut? Yeah. We can get that stuffed crust you like and the cookie pie thing.”

“You mean it?”

Sam’s eyes grew seven times their usual size. Tessa could have sworn she could see the entire universe reflected in them. She loved that sight. She loved that her little girl could get so happy so easily. She smiled back.

“Pizza always cheers us up on a bad day, doesn't it? So yeah. Let's go get Pizza.” She nearly started up the car again when she remembered her predicament. She sighed softly, so as not to frighten her little one and grinned, “Right after I free us from the mud.”

She leaned over and ruffled Sam’s hair before placing a soft kiss to her forehead. She frowned. 

“We should go to the store and get you some aloe vera for that sunburn, too. It's peeling.”

Sam pushed her mom’s fretting hands away with an annoyed giggle. She tugged her hair back into place and leaned back in her seat, now picking at the sunburn that painted her face and shoulders a bright and vibrant pink.

“We have aloevera, I just haven't been using it.”

“Well no wonder it isn't healing! What do you think I got that for? Soup? Alo soup sounds dreadful, don't you think?”

And with that, she hopped out of her Prius and moved to start pushing the car. Sam instinctively moved to get into the driver’s seat, knowing that her mom would need her to steer them back onto the road and hit the gas every now and again. 

Tessa let the stress wash from her shoulders in waves. Just because her day wasn't going too great, doesn't mean she had to ruin it for Sammy. Sammy’s had a rough week anyway, what with her best friend moving away, the MIA letter, and the death of her cat. Hell, if anyone really needed the break, it was Sammy. 

She rounded the end of her car and a horrendous smell rushed her nostrils. She gagged once, twice, and nearly puked. The smell was so bad that it blinded her with tears, causing her to tripped a bit. Her foot got lodged deep into something wet and solid. The smell was suddenly so much worse now. She did puke then. She shook her foot viciously to try and free it from whatever it was that she'd stepped in, but it refused to budge. She looked down, unafraid to dislodge it with her bare hands if need be. Her fingers landed on something cold, slimy, and strangely resembling leather. She couldn't see it clearly just yet, her world was still a blurred mess from the tears caused by the smell. God that smell! But when she could finally make out not only the colors but the shape of what it was eating her foot, she screamed. She fell back and landed harshly on her ass. Pain flared up her spine and she puked once more. 

Sam cast a worried glance at her mom through the rear view mirror. She watched in disgust and mild terror as her mother fell to the ground, her foot snuggly consumed by the rotting naked torso of what looked to be woman. Her head was missing from her shoulders, her breasts hanging lazily at the side, squirming with maggots. Tessa didn't know what to do. She stared wide eyed at the mess and continued to scream. She kicked her foot one last time and watched the body finally fall from her foot. She scrambled to her feet and looked down at the ground, worried about where the rest of the body went. She stared in paralyzed horror at the skull she'd crushed when she'd fallen. The face sagged and slid off from its bone support the way melted cheese peels from a hot lasagna. Fuck pizza, she needed a drink!

Tyler wanted to scream. He sat slumped in his cold metal chair and stared down at the equally as cold and metal table. His hands were shaking in his lap and tears threatened to fall. The woman in front of him, his lawyer, slid a tan folder of documents across the table just inches out of his line of sight. She spoke gently and quietly, her voice barely rising above that of a harsh whisper.

“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Wilds.” 

That was a sentence he'd heard one too many times. Tyler had lost a lot of people in his life. Funny how a war can do that. He'd once had this long list of friends so close to him, he could easily call them brothers. They'd been besides him when he thought his life was over, and he'd been besides them when theirs finally was. He'd been besides them with their wives and husbands crying to his right as they were lowered into the ground. He'd folded the flag that their relatives and loved ones got to keep. He'd lost many. So many. Enough to fill a graveyard with neat and even white, perfect teeth. 

Even outside of the war he'd lost people, good people. When Evan had been assigned as his field partner, he hated it because every partner before him had been killed. While it hadn't been his fault, he still blamed himself for their untimely ends. Life was a cruel mistress who took who she pleased and never gave them back. Tyler was terrified that he'd lose Evan too. Everyday he worried. 

He'd lost his parents half a dozen years ago. He hated himself every day for having been away when they'd died. He thought that maybe if he'd been there, besides them, then maybe things could have turned out differently. 

You'd think that by now, he'd be used to the constant loss. That would be a silly thing to think. No one can ever get used to such a thing. So there he sat, after having been told that his grandmother had passed away as well, repeating that same stupid sentence he'd heard a hundred times before in his head, feeling like the world had just ended. His heart gave a tight squeeze and he was no longer able to play the perfect soldier anymore. He let go of a weak sob that shook his whole body. And finally the tears were allowed to fly. 

The woman sat in respectful silence as he wept. She understood what it felt like to lose a loved one. She knew what these vets felt. She'd served for this country too. Losing someone was never easy. With that understanding in mind, she waited, quiet and withheld, for his sobs to subside. And at long last they did. He let out a shaky breath and grinned weakly up at the woman.he wasn't sure why he was smiling, he just felt that he had to show that he was ok. He wanted to be ok. 

“Sophie? Where does she go?” 

He'd nearly forgotten about her. When he'd left for the military, his sister had been so little then, hardly four. She'd had to move in with their grandmother after their parents perished in a car wreck. She'd been six then. She'd be narrowing in on thirteen now. So much loss and at such a young age. 

His heart suddenly cried out in his chest. He hadn't seen his sister in years, seven long years. They'd talked on the phone, and he wrote letters to her, and they'd face timed every now and again, but in person, he hadn't seen his sister in person for seven years. He faintly wondered if she'd even remember him any more. For some reason or another, he hoped not.

The woman smiled gently, “That's up to you, sir-”

“No, I don't like being called sir unless I'm working,” he interrupted quickly. It didn't actually bother him, being called sir, but for some reason he felt that he should tell her. She hesitated and went on.

“That's up to you, Mr. wilds, “she corrected, “You can take her home with you or you can put her into the foster system.”

She tapped her pen against the corner of the thick packet for him to go through. He flipped through it the way an overwhelmed college student might thumb through their text book. He slumped back in his chair and huffed.

“Considering your profession, you might like to abstain from caring for her. If that's the case, I want you to rest assured that our veteran program has a wonderful system and she’ll be well cared for and regularly checked up on.” 

Tyler couldn't understand how this woman, his lawyer, had managed to switch from the pitying “sorry for your loss” to this nearly positive and cheerful “I've got a good deal for you” in a matter of seconds. It annoyed him slightly. Not nearly as much as her first comment had. His profession? What did that have to do with raising a child-?

He was suddenly bombarded by memories. A phantom pain erupted in his chest from the bullet wound that nearly ended his life not too long ago. Who was he kidding? It had ended his life! Albeit only for a few minutes, he died. He was a dead man. He shouldn't be here right now and yet he was. By some miracle he was still breathing and working and walking. He was lucky. His adventures on the front lines, the bodies he'd seen piled up, the shots fired at him that missed their mark, he was lucky! But even he knew that one day that luck would run out. What if he died on the job? What would Sophie be left with then? That would just be another loss under her belt. He couldn't put her through that again.

“Do I get any time to think this over?”

“You have all the time in the world. At this moment, she is being cared for by a neighbor of your grandmother and can stay for a week longer before we have to start finding a semi permanent residence for her. You don't have to take her home with you. But, if at any point, you change your mind, all you'd have to do is return this form all filled out and she's yours. Sound good?”

He stared at the forms and nodded. He reached for a pen and stopped when his phone went off on his pocket. He wanted to ignore it, but his eye snagged on the caller ID and he had to answer it.

“Sorry, its work,” he explained. He held up a hand to excuse himself and left from the room. 

He sighed and finally let Evan say his piece, “Whatcha got for me, Ev?”

“Don't...don't call me Ev-listen, we have a torso over at Langdon Drive and Herman avenue. Team’s still searching for the rest of em, but we need you over here.”

Tyler glanced back at the woman waiting for him. He sighed heavily. “I'll be right there.” And he hung up. He made his way back to the room and took the papers. He wasn't certain that he wanted to fill them out or leave them blank. 

“Thank you, I’ll uh, I'll be in touch.” She nodded and folded her hands together. She watched him leave and sighed. She hated her job sometimes. Arguing in the courtroom for a friend was always a thrill and she loved it, lived for it even, but she hated this part. The going door to door telling people that someone they loved isn't coming home tonight, or any other night for that matter. She hated being handed a child and being forced to tell them that their brother would rather it care for her. She hated seeing them hurt. But that was her job, to be that bearer of bad news. And she knew that she just had to live with that. And she hoped, for Tyler’s sake, that he'll be able to live with his cross just as she must. Compared to most, he had a lot on his shoulders only he could see and only he could carry. She could only hope that he wouldn't be crushed by it all.


	2. Two

Tessa sat on the bed of an open ambulance wrapped up in one of those felt blankets, a shock blanket is what it's called, and you can never have too many. Flashing red and blue lights danced across her face. She stared vacantly towards where she'd trampled on the body. God, she hoped that Sammy hadn't seen it. She was so focused on her daughter that she wasn't hearing a single word this stranger was telling her. Which was a shame too, because she had to admit that he was kinda cute, in that sad puppy looking way. The doctor was trying as hard as he could to keep her from hysteria, but felt that with every passing second that he was getting farther and farther from that goal. Any Moment now she'd start laughing or screaming. Ohm just hoped it wouldn't disturb the clean up crew. 

Said clean up crew was currently having problems of its own. Evan was off to the side calling in Tyler, Marcel was hassling a newbie about the proper sanitary procedures that he was noticeably ignoring. Smitty was green in the face and unable to get near the torso and head of the body. He gagged every two or three seconds and excused himself to be sick in peace. Craig was rather disappointed in his findings. The maggots would help, they always did, but that was almost all he had to work with. There were no beatles lurking about or anything special. He was being a Mr. Mopy Mc Moperson off to the side and out of the way. 

Jonathan crouched over the skull and examined it carefully. The body was female, that much was sure, but he had to make sure that this skull belonged to the body provided, or was this some sick body dump? They'd gotten a couple of those before. But he was lost. He felt like someone had presented him the biggest where's Waldo puzzle in the world. He didn't know what to do or how to start. He was staring at a skull, and half of it still had flesh. It was crushed, no thanks to Tessa, but the damage wasn't that bad. Everything he needed was intact and all there, yet he didn't understand any of it. Maybe Ohm was right. Maybe it was a little too early to go back to work.

Marcel, having scolded the newbie, moved to assist Jonathan. Unlike Craig, Marvel had an abundance to work with. The body was still on the second stage of decomposition, meaning that the stomach should still be intact. When he got back to the Marsh, he’d be able to get a good look at what’s inside. They’d be able to figure out what this poor soul’s last meal was or if they’d been under any influences of drugs. He’d get to learn about their last day on earth. This, of course, thrilled him.

“Finding anything good over here?” He asked Jon as he approached. The forensic anthropologist nodded. They had the skull, a lot could be learned from the skull. The optical orbits could reveal both gender and race, the nasal cavity could also confirm race, the fusion of the cranial plates could reveal the victim’s age, and they could probably get a solid identification with what remained of the teeth, but he didn’t remember how to go about telling the slightest details apart, making all of this useless.

“I’m uncertain, but I think this was a twenty year old girl of African American decent,” he answered. 

Marcel moved to better see the skull. Bones weren’t his thing. There were 206 of them and that was 200 too many for him to remember. But skin was his thing, and the skull still had patches of that here and there. It was a bruised purple from the advanced stage of livor mortis, but a skin tone could still be identified. He wasn’t entirely sure Jonathan was right with his guess. 

“You sure about that?”

Jonathan shook his head with a heavy sigh. Marcel could have handed him the skull of a case they’d already solved and he’d still get this wrong. It was infuriating! He was skilled in this practice, he’d devoted over thirteen years of his life to it, and he had the credentials and reputation to prove it. Now he was no better than a kindergartner.

“It’s alright, Jon, we can take it all back to the lab, Smitty can take over, and you can go back home and rest up.”

“I don’t need rest, Marcel, I need to work! I need to get back into that headspace. I need to do this.”

Marcel gave a hesitant nod. He wanted to pull Smitty over and have him help Jonathan, however the child of an intern was still across the street puking up everything he’d ever eaten in his life. The sight made Marcel chuckle. 

“Remember your first case?” 

Jonathan looked up from the skull. He’d been a little older than Smitty, young and eager. He was brilliant, sarcastic, and nobody liked him at first. The body they’d found had been in the third stage of decomposition, the stomach well rounded and swollen with the build up of gas released by the digestive bacteria that was now free to eat the body. Everyone could tell that the sucker was essentially an overfilled balloon. Everyone except for Jonathan. Marcel needed assistance lifting the oft off of the ground and into the body bag. No one wanted to step in and help. Jonathan had stepped forward, confident and cocky. He grabbed the man’s head as Marcel grabbed the feet. The second the body left the ground the stomach burst open. Everything shot up and out, and most of it landed on Jonathan’s face. That had been the only time he’d ever puked. Seeing Smitty now reminded him of the old Jonathan, the one who knew what he was doing and was going to be an ass about it. Only Smitty wasn’t an ass about his work. Just everything else. He smiled. 

“He has no idea,” he laughed, dusting himself off before pulling himself to his feet, “we should get this back to the lab. There’s nothing else I can do right now.”

“Think you’ll have better luck with the other bones?”

“Let’s hope.”

Jonathan hated this. He hated it with his whole being. He was usually spot on with his analysis. He could identify if the bones belonged to the same person in twelve seconds tops. He could identify things that others spent an entire day on before ever going back to the lab. This job wasn’t a job, it was a gift and he used to be freakishly talented. It devistated him to look at something he once knew so well and just feel so lost. 

Tyler arrived in his truck shortly thereafter. He observed the scene set before him and sighed. They had too much on their plates already. He just hoped this wasn’t another one. He watched as Marcel and Jonathan carried over the black body bag and set it down. He moved to Smitty’s side, also not one for corpses.

“What do we have today?”

“A woman. She wasn’t buried but covered with a layer of what ever was around. I didn’t get a good look, but decomposed was goopy and gross and she didn’t have a head or cloths and I’m going to be sick again.” 

Tyler felt awful when a wave of relief washed over him. It wasn’t another. It was something else. He parted Smitty’s company, not really interested in the gruesome sounds and sights that were soon to follow. He found Craig first. He knew that this case was supposed to be top priority, but he was unable to focus on it. Not now. Not yet. Still, Marcel said that there wasn’t enough to merit a serial killer, two bodies wasn’t enough. Tyler could understand. Sometimes a killer gets two victims and kills them the same way. But a week apart from each other? Time of death aside, both men were Caucasian, brunettes, skilled in strange arts as one was a dentist and the other was a surgeon, single men who moved to California and weren’t born in the state. It was weird and didn’t sit well in his stomach one bit. Still, this system relied on evidence to prove innocent, not guilty. So until further evidence surfaced to secure the belief of a serial killer, then Tyler would just have to sit and grit his teeth.

The sight he was met with was it one he could have possibly prepared himself for. Her eyes were swarmed by maggots and flies but despite this fact she stared dead ahead seemingly right at him. Marcel was struggling to secure it in its own bag. Jonathan tugged on the black zipper pulling the dark blue fabric close covering up the woman’s bear chest. 

That was a person. She had a name and a family and a past. Once they identified her, someone would pull someone else to the side and promptly say, “I’m sorry for your loss” without any actual emotion behind their voice. It devastated Tyler and he couldn’t bare to stand around and let those distasteful thoughts linger any longer. He swiftly moved to rejoin Smitty. He chuckled lightly, his way of chasing away his own emotions more than trying to lighten the mood, and slapped the boy on the back.

“Feeling any better?”

“I normally respond to that question by informing who ever asked it that I want to die, but not if I end up like that.”

Smitty glanced back towards where the body had been discovered. He knew deaths could be gruesome and that decomposing wasn’t this pretty process, he’d simply been blissfully unaware of just how awful it really was. He definitely prefered working in the lab. His stomach dropped when Marcel called him over in need of assistance putting this lady into the back of the truck. 

Ohm stepped away from the ambulance. He observed the entire scene with a frown. He was quickly joined by Evan, who’d even occupied with recording the body’s found temperature, collecting dirt samples, and scouring the nearby area for anything else that could be related to the body. A tarp, clothes, other body parts, anything. He’d found nothing. Disappointed, he hoped that Ohm could work whatever mind magic he had and give a better assessment of things than he could.

“So? What are the stars telling you now?”

“Not stars, setting and situation. She wasn’t buried, meaning this was done in a hurry. The wasn’t covered, the victim wasn’t close with her murderer, and she’s nude. I don’t think I need to fill in that blank.”

“No you don’t.” 

Evan sighed heavily. He glanced at the woman and her daughter wondering why they were still here and shook his head.

“This is ridiculous.”

Ohm has been speculating on the reasoning behind the decapitation when he’d finally processed what Evan had said. He returned to earth slightly alarmed.

“What’s ridiculous?”

“This! We have bigger cases to solve. That dentist? You said that the feathers were a calling card. Pheasant feathers. But the surgeon was surrounded by crow feathers. I mean, I’m sorry this lady’s dead, but we have bigger fish to fry.”

“I’m with you, 100% of the way, I am. But that’s not up to you or me. So bite your tongue until otherwise instructed.”

Ohm walked away then to inspect the foliage the body had been poorly hidden in. Evan hated what his colleague had said, hated it because he was right, hated it because there was nothing they could do about it but wait, and hated that someone else had to die before the message got across. Angry that this was the oh so urgent case he had been called out of a relaxing bath for, he moved to join Tyler. He’d understand. 

It startled him to find Tyler’s face haunted almost by a strange ghosting shadow. He scanned the area the way a man would having returned to his childhood home to find most of it gone, destroyed, neglected, burned, and forgotten about. He stood off to the side of things. He usually did. He wasn’t one for the gore. Never really was. But this was different somehow. It wasn’t a withdrawal in his usual disgust. He seemed more emotionally involved with this. 

He was careful with how he approached his friend. The man was a vet and hadn’t had and episode in over five years, but you could never be too careful. So he moved with heavy yet slow steps to let Tyler know he was coming while not rushing him too fast. 

“Everything ok?”

“Do you think she was a mom?” Tyler watched the truck bed doors shut and instinctively stole a glance back at the mom and her daughter who were now finally allowed to leave. Evan frowned.

“I can’t exactly tell. She still has all of her flesh. What brings on this question all of a sudden?”

“If-hypothetically, if you were her and you had a kid, two kids, would you want your eldest to care for the younger one or would you send the younger one into the foster care system?”

Now Evan was beyond confused. He scanned Tyler’s face. He wasn’t the best with facial cues, but he could tell that this hypothetical question wasn’t out of the blue.

“Oh god, Tyler, what happened?”

“Just….what would you do in that situation?”

Evan was quiet. He shuffled a bit where he stood and took in a breath through his teeth. 

“I shouldn’t say this, but the best people to ask would be Brock and Ohm.”

“Brock and Ohm, why?”

“Let them tell you. Hey, whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

Tyler stared at Evan in surprise, “Not my fault, what do you mean it’s not my fault?” 

Evan rose his hands up in defense and gave a weak smile. “You have a tendency to blame yourself for things out of your control. I meant no offense. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tyler hummed after a moment’s thought. Evan was right. Tyler had blamed himself for his parents deaths, for the day he was shot and died for a bit, for the death of his brothers in arms, for the deaths of these continuous victims, for everything. He smiled. “No, you’re right. I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the 20th. Sorry about the weird scheduling. Thanks for understanding :)


	3. Three

Brock moved briskly from his office to the examining platform. In his hands rested several thick folders, all of varying colors and faded labels, and a mug of coffee still steaming. He took a content sip while pulling his ID card from his pocket. He slid the small plastic thing through once, twice, three times and not once did the platform grant him access aboard. He frowned and swiped again. Maybe he’d held it too close to his fridge again and the magnets messed it up. He was going to swipe it a fifth time hoping that he was just holding it wrong or going too fast when some one ran in to stop him.

“Oh, hold on! It’s broken-“ Mr. Sark, the team’s newest team member serving as their night shift security guard, rushed forward. “One of the moving teams ran a cart into it. Just-“ he took his own card out and ran it through. The little machine made a high pitched chirp. “There ya go.”

“Thank you, Sark. You headed off then?”

“I’m afraid so. These old bones need some rest.”

As soon as the words fell from his mouth he remembered the body lying less than ten feet away from them. He then remembered the room of skeletal remains yet to be identified and the cadavers they used for study and tests. In a month, DC was to send two anthropologists over to study how certain environments aid or tamper with decomposition. But for now, the donated bodies were chilling in a very large freezer. Thinking about all of that, combined with his words, made Sark feel a little less than pleased with the term he’d coined from his father. 

“Hopefully not like her up there,” he added after a second. He gestured at the table holding the woman's corpse. He smiled when Brock chuckled at the joke. “I’ll see you later tonight then. Take care.”

“You too,” Brock bade as Sark sauntered off. 

He then turned rather reluctantly towards the platform and the doctors crowding it. At the second, Smitty was standing as far off to the side as he possibly could. His nose was buried in his shirt and his eyes were watering. Marcel was trying very hard not to laugh at the sight while carefully maneuvering a scapula across the woman’s stomach. He held the flesh open and with extreme caution meh plucked the stomach from its resting place and set it aside in a metal tray.

“Schmit, go bring that to my lab room will you?”

Brock wished Craig had been there to see the face Smitty made in response. He took a very unwanted step forwards and claimed the metal tray with the stomach and rushed from the platform. Brock waited for the intern to pass before taking his place where he discovered the x-rays were already ready and waiting for him both physically and digitally. He let out a satisfied hum and approached his boyfriend silently. His free hand moved to find Marcel’s butt and he gave it a teasing squeeze, startling the poor doctor.

“Brock! You gotta find a better way to say hello. I have a knife in my hand, I could have cut something!” Brock shushed the man by placing a quick kiss to his cheek. Marcel grew to be a lovely shade of red. “Ok, fine. I forgive you.” 

Brock giggled lightly. He rested against Marcel and peered over his shoulder at the woman still being held open at the stomach by a pair of miniature rib splitters. He frowned at the sight. He honestly was expecting a third body surrounded by and stuffed with feathers again. 

Those scared him. The amount of torture the two had gone through before their deaths was unimaginable and sickeningly cruel. All of their nails and teeth had been removed. They’d been strapped down, thick and dark bruises and rashes formed on the wrists, ankles, and waist. Needles had been lodged deep into the finger tips and toes. Burns covered the bottoms of the feet. They’d been severely beaten with some blunt object. Cause of death was still unknown. And while all of this was unsettling, it was their faces that really worried Brock the most. They’d been left alone. And looking at them was like looking into a mirror. He could easily see himself laying in their place. He hoped to god it wasn’t a serial killer. Marcel had helped calm his worries by reminding him that if it was a serial killer that Brock wouldn’t likely be a victim. There were a vast supply of white men with brown hair and eyes that had moved to California. While the fact did ease Brock’s mind a bit, it wasn’t enough. He was ashamed to feel relieved when he didn’t see another young man laying on their table to be dissected and forgotten about. 

“Alright. I’ll get some pictures and we’ll run her through the missing persons files. But before I do,” Brock sang, “I got you something.”

He promptly handed Marcel the files. The proctomotrist groaned when he saw them. He made a mental not to get Smitty to handle it later. He watched Brock move to find the camera and take pictures of the decapitated head. He grimaced at the sight. Marcel was just glad it wasn’t a kid. He hated it when they were kids. He briefly hoped that this woman didn’t have any. 

He dove back into the woman’s stomach, pulling free her kidneys and liver. Hopefully they’d find something useful in one of these things. The stomach looked promising. It had been plump and rounded, but not full of gas rounded. It was too heavy to be gas. They’d get to see what she’d eaten last and get a good estimate of where she’d been before dying. That could narrow down the suspects list. 

“How tall is she and how old?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? I thought Jonathan was back.”

Marcel sighed heavily and set aside his surgical tools. He ripped the gloves from his hands and tossed them carelessly into the nearby waste bin. He glanced around once to ensure that Delirious wasn’t anywhere near by. Seeing that the cost was clear. Slightly, he leaned over the dead woman and spoke in a hushed voice.

“I don’t think the guy’s doing too hot. He couldn’t tell mena thing about the victim that I couldn’t see with my own two eyes. What little he was able to try and guess was wrong. Maybe it’s too early for him to be back.”

Brock felt a pang of sadness for his friend. Jon practically lived at the Marsh. He was happiest when he could look at a set of remains and spot all of the person’s life just in the faded bone growth and fractures. He kept records upon records of the still unidentified remains hoping to give them back what little he could. 

Once, while Tyler was in the hospital recovering from the on duty injury and near death experience, Brock had found Jon in the unknown standing over a table of a partial skeleton. His face was wet with tears that he’d tried to wipe away before Brock could notice them but fresh ones fell in place of those. He didn’t want to explain the reason behind his crying. He never was the best with explaining his emotions. He liked to laugh things off. But he couldn’t laugh this off. Scared, or panicked, Jon just fell into explaining every last detail about the injuries he’d found and what they meant. 

The bones they’d been staring at belonged to a young man, a teenager rather. His left ulna, radius, and foot was missing along with the entirety of his right leg and the lower set of ribs. Despite this, Jon could tell that he was of African descent. The markings on his femur told him about how he had been a swimmer, a really good swimmer. He was thinner than most, well built, and would have been tall if he’d been able to live past fifteen. Jon spent hour showing Brock this kid’s life through his injuries. Brock sent Jon home and intended to go home too, but something about how much Jon had learned about the kid struck a chord with Brock. He’d stayed behind until the days changed reconstructing a face and scanning through the missing persons report until he got a short list of 25 possible matches. It was the recorded injuries that had inevitably given this boy a face and a name. He was no longer a set of unknown remains. He was Domonic Julius Greenman. D. J. His mom called him D. J. He would have been turning eighteen when they’d finally found his family. It broke Brock’s heart learning that they never stopped looking for him for all that time. He couldn’t possibly imagine the turmoil that family went through. He hoped he never would. 

They couldn’t solve that murder. D.J’s remains still sit in a plastic container here in the Marsh. But now he has a name and his family has some closure. Brock would never forget that name. 

It had been Jon who’d done that. Brock never would have been able to find the child if Jon hadn’t discovered the minute injuries and small proofs of his activities. That was just what Jon did. He gave people their personalities and pasts back to them. Jon turned to the bones when he felt any sort of emotion. They spoke to him. Just like how Luke would turn to his soldering iron or how Tyler would go down to the shooting range. Brock couldn’t phantom what it felt like to have that comfort taken away. 

Brock knew only one thing for certain; he’d have to give to this woman what Jonathan currently couldn’t, a name. He snapped as many pictures as he thought necessary before turning back to Marcel.

“Give him time. Also, don’t call him Delirious. He’s not- he’ll get better. Ohm says he’ll get better.”

“Are we really going to believe Ohm?”

 

“I’d trust Ohm with my life and I trust him with this. Jon will get better, just you wait and see.” 

He turned and swiftly saw himself off the platform. The damn card reader stopped him for a solid minute and a half, but to Marcel, it felt like Brock was gone all too fast. He shook off their conversation and returned to work. Brock walked into his office with the same intention. Luke was already seated at one of the man computers. He was scanning through the Dentist’s last sent emails and frowning at what he saw.

“I swear, every time we update these damned computers, something that worked is suddenly broken! I had this email open, and now it’s just crashed! It’s-son of a bitch!” He slammed his fists hard against the table. The email finally reloaded. Afraid that it would only crash again, Luke fumbled for a pen and began copying the email word for word upon his arm, lacking any paper nearby.

Brock didn’t mind the lack of a greeting. He began to filter in the pictures of the skull he’d taken into his computer system. It didn’t take him too long to pinpoint the important facial muscle attachments that gave each face its own unique and distinguished look. The computer was happy to fill in the rest. They finally had a face. She was no doubt white, early thirties, heavier set, and Brock could have sworn that he recognized the face but only just slightly. Like he’d seen it once before in a dream he could barely remember. He began his frantic search through missing persons. He got back only a thousand or more partial matches. Nothing definitive. He grumbled, unsatisfied with the results. 

Luke looked up then. He searched his friend’s face to see what type of groan had been made. Ohm could easily list of half a dozen little activities of emotions and then miraculously find the perfect word to describe it, but Luke wasn’t Ohm, so he went with angry. He glanced over at the screen.

“That today’s found vic?”

“Yep, with a face so average that she slips between the cracks.”

“No, you’re just missing some things. Here,” he abandoned the email he was almost done rewriting and moved to highlight the search for the woman’s wide eyes and prominent cheek bones topped off with brown curly hair. Seven matches then popped up. Brock smiled at this. That definitely made things easier. “Now you just have to angle the face and see if these women have any photos that pair up with bone structure. But, I’m thinking the woman third to the right on the bottom row is our girl.”

Brock followed the given instructions and was t one bit surprised when Luke’s prediction was dead on yet again. The woman they’d found was named Michelle. She was a thirty two year old gal who’d been missing for a reported five days. The longer he stared at her face the more the gears in his brain churned. Finally it clicked. He turned to Luke, who’d returned to copying the email.

“Hey, what all do you remember from your bachelor party?”

Luke made a face that can only be described as a grimace if longing and regret. He could still feel the phantom fingers of the hangover he’d gotten afterwards and he felt sick all over again. 

“Not much. I remember you told me not to go overboard with the drinks, but Jon just kept them coming. Evan danced on the bar and fell. We got into a fight with a drunk homeless man and lost. I remember that one really well. But everything else is a blur.”

Brock chuckled. That had been the weirdest night of his life by far. Brock and Ohm has been the only ones who hadn’t drank that night, both deciding the be the designated drivers of the large group. He could easily describe that night as attempting to babysit your coworkers and friends with a psychologist who was more interested in learning about drunk thoughts than helping. Out of all of them, it was Jon who proved to be the light weight and he wasn’t a funny drunk at all, but the depressed drunk. Luke and Evan could be found making out like their lives depended on it. Tyler was passed out on the floor. Ohm was talking to a babbling Marcel. Craig was flirting heavily with Brian and wasn’t really making much sense, but Brian was swooning! And Jon? Sobbing at the bar. It was a surreal night for Brock who remembered nearly everything so clearly. Which was exactly where he remembered the face from. He turned his computer to face Luke.

“We went down to Lipstick, remember? The gay strip club. This is the manager. She kicked us out after you started harassing the waiters.”

Luke squinted at the face. That night had been a disaster and he didn’t recognize her in the slightest. He clicked away from the email and quickly found his way into Lipstick’s website and stared at the images that greeted him. He did have a fuzzy memory of the wall papers, they’d been covered in mermaids. Topless mermaids. Evan had asked him if they had nipples and they spent fifteen minutes trying to find one that had nipples. They never did. He hunted through the many little links the site had just looking for a list of the staff. It took him a moment, but he found one. There she was. The image used for her missing person’s report matched this exact one. Michelle, better known amongst her colleagues as Minx.

Luke leaned away from the computer, “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like we’re headed back to Lipstick.”

Brock nearly groaned aloud at that. He never wanted to go back again. Not if he could help it. 

“I’ll let Tyler know we have a name and place of occupation.”

Luke nodded. He returned back to the email and scanned through the lines trying to find the place where he’d left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short it is and the lateness. My copy paste has ceased with its ability to function and I had to type everything up word for word and admittedly got a tiny bit lazy with it. Next chapter poste will be nov. 30th! Hopefully not as late 


	4. Four

Tyler loosened his tie for the fifth time but it was a useless act. No matter what he did he felt as though we was wading in the middle of the ocean sinking below the thunderous waves every other second and only breathing in lungfuls of sea water. His chest burned. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to pull in any air. His mind was a cluttered mess filled with pillars of problems. They bled from his head and clogged his throat with shards of salt. He was stressed and terrified, almost petrified. 

His phone sat restlessly inside his fidgeting hand. His eyes could not hold still for more than a second. He wanted to call his sister. He never wanted her to answer. What would he say? What was he supposed to do? He was uncertain and worried that every action he was allowed to make was wrong and this drove him near the breaking point of madness that only a very select handful would have been able to recognize. 

He’d been trained to keep his face stoic and emotionless. He made his way through the motions of the day. Every now and again he’d indulge in some boring conversation with one of his fellow agents or secretaries and laugh. But only because that's what he was supposed to do. Every face was a blur, every topic the same, every second a stabbing pain in the back of his head keeping time with the hectic beat of his heart. 

The threat of a promotion wasn’t helping either. The second he’d walked into the building the lovely lady approached him with the brightest smile and a large stack of forms. 

“Wilds, I’ve been looking for you,” she sang brightly. Tyle was in no way interested in this promotion. Not yet. The timing was off. Still, he couldn’t say no to his boss and he followed her into her spacious office and took a seat. 

She sat before him with her hands patiently folded atop her desk, the files an inch to their left. She had the face of a learned woman, one who’s been to hell and back. Wrinkles sagged her tired face but there was strength behind her eyes that Tyler rarely found in anyone these days. 

“I know that there have been some rumors airborne within the babbling mouths of the cubicle occupants. Rumors of a a big promotion with your name unmistakably written all over it. Most of the times, office rumors are just that, rumors. Exaggerated truths, and, just as equally, missing them. Not this time. You have been the most dedicated of my agents. Your work has been nothing short of phenomenal. I was tasked with finding the best person to essentially be my right hand man, my partner if you will, and I have yet to find anyone better than you. I’d love to have you at my side, Agent Wilds. However, this is yours to dismiss or accept as you please. But before you make any final decisions, I’d like you to hear out my proposition. Is that fair?”

He could not say no, no matter how bad he wanted to. He sat at the opposite end of her desk listening to her educated explanation of the job he’d have if he so wished. But not one word filtered through his brain. It only added to the gathered clutter and pushed him farther beneath the angry waves of distress he was already drowning in. 

This job would be the be all end all of everything. Never again would he have to worry about the safety of himself or his partner, however he’d be across oceans, miles away from home, from his remaining family, from his friends, from Ohm. He’d never have to leave his office building. While drab and dull, he’d be making more money than he could even fathom. He’d be set for the rest of his actionless life, living in comfort and luxury. Alone. 

If he accepted, his sister could very easily come along. He could set her up in a nice private school, decorate her in necklaces, expensive garments, and whatever her little heart could cry out for. He could spoil the girl until she became a classic teenaged brat. Fatten her up with tiny French cakes, crepes, and cookies. He could make her happy. Maybe his parents above could look down and see that and be proud. He could hire people to care for the girl for him, avoiding the issue of some how fucking up entirely. He’d never have to see her and she could spend his money however she saw fit. If she wanted a second car or a fifth pony, she could have it by the next hour. But was that really a life to live? Tyler couldn’t think of a single person ever happy getting everything they ever wanted. That’s how you become unsatisfied with everything. 

He stared at the thick pamphlet before him and the pen disguised as a cheap and crappy sunflower that was resting on top of it. He made no move to take them. He was almost too grateful when his phone interrupted the conversation.

“Excuse me,” Tyler spoke with a broken voice that could hardly get above the volume of a harsh whisper. 

He bolted from his seat and threw an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he departed from her office. It was a suffocating space he wasn’t aware had been holding his breath hostage until his lungs suddenly filled with a sharp blast of freezing oxygen. He answered his phone all too fast.

“Talk to me, Brock, whatcha got?”

“Oh. You sound stressed as all hell. Everything alright on your end?”

“I’m-uh-no yeah I’m doing great.”

Brock wasn’t buying this act for a second but had no time to stop and play the role of the concerned friend he usually was. He flew right into the assigned case ignoring the sudden activated mumbling emanating from his coworker to his left. 

“We got a name and place of occupation if you’re interested.”

Slowly the life returned to Tyler’s face. His hands’ trembling subsided for the moment and he found himself alarmingly calm. He made his way to his own office. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Evan was already waiting for him inside holding a pair of still steaming coffees. He handed one over the instant he was within reach. Tyler quickly set his phone down on his desk once he was certain that it was on speaker so that Evan would get to hear what Brock had found. 

“I’m good, fill me in,” he finally answered. There was a second’s silence. 

“Remember Lipstick?”

Brock had asked a vast many confusing questions before in his life, but this one had to have been the best. Mostly because he was lost as all balls but the look Evan made told him that this name should mean a lot more to him than it did. 

“Expand.”

“Lipstick,” Evan explained quickly, speaking low so that Brock wouldn’t hear him, “it was the gay strip we held the bachelor party at.” Tyler nodded pretending to remember such an event however the alcohol he’d consumed had wiped his memory clean of the entire event. 

“The woman we found just so happens to be the manager of that same establishment, Michelle, ‘Minx’ as the others call her.”

“Lipstick, Minx, got it,” Tyler repeated while quickly writing the two things down on his hand. “Hey, Brock?”

“What is it, Wilds?”

Tyler was quiet a second. Evan watched his partner quizzically. He looked a if his mind had been plucked from his head and teleported to some other world far far away. He returned from that far off land with a determined frown and a shake of his head. What ever he’d wanted to say, he’d figured it was best not to. This concerned Evan more. 

“Minx is the back burner priority right now, you hear? I don’t care what Marcel says. You find the son of a bitch who killed those two men before a third joins them.”

“Yes, sir.” Brock moved the phone away from his face just in time to catch Tyler’s voice once more clearly call out to him. He retired it to his ear yet again. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said don’t call me sir.”

“Understood.” He hung up then and turned to Luke. “What’s wrong?”

Luke turned the computer towards Brock. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud, “Mr. Greeneman, it has come to my attention that you will not be in for the next week or so. I congratulate you, sir, for your successes, but must ask if you are certain that the path you’re taking is the right one. There are people around you who worry, who care, and who are angry. And while I am happy for your joy with your new partner, I must admit that they aren’t who I think they insist themselves to be. With the formalities aside, there are several issues I’d like to get cleared up before your departure.”

He sighed heavily and took a swig from his coffee. “This message was sent to him by a coworker who had previously never messaged them beforehand. The message continues to clue me in that they are the replacement for his position. I feel like this entire email has everything we need to get a lead on who killed this man. Whoever this partner is could be a suspect or our biggest lead, but it doesn’t give a name, this is the only email that mentions them, and I’ve yet to find any emails from any lovers, flings, or work partners! We’re so close, Brock! So close and still so far.”

Brock sat down and stared at the small print upon Luke’s screen. As the words fell from Luke’s lips his entire screen flashed with a rather unpleasant shade of yellow before becoming lined with green, black, and white stripes in varying widths. The computer then promptly turned blue then shut off. 

Luke let out an infuriated scream. This had been the seventh time it’s done such a thing within the past hour. He hated these new company computers with a passion. His hand shook at his side trying so hard not to go and punch it. That came out of his paycheck. 

“Maybe the thing has a virus? I’ll tell IT about the glitches,” Brock grumbled. Luke gave a hesitant nod. This was in no way, shape, or form the response he wanted. But there really wasn’t any other possible response to receive so he was forced to remain in disgruntled silence. 

Also sitting in disgruntled silence happened to be Ohm. He stared at the case file before him feeling at a strange loss. He’d only ever worked with a serial killer case once in his life, and he was on the therapeutic side of things, not the investigative side. This wasn’t at all anything he was used to nor expecting. And while greatly disturbed, he found the whole thing truly fascinating. He was able to spot several connections between the victims, and while focusing on what they had in common had been the main goal, it was the meaning behind the feathers that had pulled his mind away. 

Many killers used a calling card he’d learned. Most liked flowers, as you could easily concoct a bouquet that could represent any sort of meaning a man could think. Bird feathers had been a bold and strange choice. Flowers were easy to work with. Most killers who used flowers were crazy people believing that they could be a serial killer and out wit the cops. Problem was the fact that most flowershops kept track of shipments of requested flowers, making the tracking and finding of the customers who order the flower arrangement of death a rather easy journey. But birds were literally everywhere. At the moment, both feathers used were common birds. Any man could go up to the mountains and hunt their fair share of bird with no real trouble. Hell, Ohm could have spotted three corpses on the side of the road on his way to work this morning. There’d be no receipts, no calls from a flower shop manager with a couple questions, nothing to help lead them to a potential suspect. Only feathers. 

That aside, birds, much like flowers, held symbols behind them. The pheasant feathers were a warning. The crow feathers were of death. The robin feathers were to represent how common the two were. The murderer behind this monstrosity was taunting them through visual poetry. It was cocky, in Ohm’s eyes. He hoped that it would be the downfall of the monster causing all the chaos. 

A gentle knock at his door forced Ohm out of his thoughts, as exciting and puzzling as they were, and back to reality. He turned to the door as if he’d forgotten it existed in the first place. Tyler flashed a grin at him. He stepped into the office ready with a light hearted topic already at the tip of his tongue that died the second he saw the overly organized display. 

“It looks like a school science fair project in here,” he chuckled. Ohm wouldn’t deny that. However depending on the student, a school science fair project could look like just about anything making the sentence next to meaningless. He’d never say so out loud though. Worried that he might say something that could offend Tyler, Ohm dropped the subject completely and moved it towards a more work related direction.

“You got a new case for me?” 

“You bet I do. I’m taking Evan to go see the young woman’s workplace, I need you to go tell another woman that we found her dead wife.”

“Fun,” Ohm cooed mockingly. He swiped his jacket from off the back rest of his chair and slipped past Tyler with great ease. Tyler happily followed him.

“Before we go, can I actually talk to you about something?”

“If it’s about my moving in with you then you already know my answer.”

Ohm glanced back over his shoulder expecting to see Tyler giving him a sarcastic smile like he usually did. But Tyler’s face was haunted by a shadow of a thought that scared him. He slowed his pace and came to a complete stop once he felt that there weren’t too many people to catch much of their soon to be conversation. 

“Everything ok?”

As far as Tyler could tell, there was no really gentle way of approaching the topic on his mind. There wasn’t a safe rout to take or any easy way to go about it. No matter how he mapped out what he wanted to say, it all sounded wrong. He wondered if he should say anything at all. Ohm squirmed under his gaze, greatly uncomfortable with the silence when he could clearly see that what ever Tyler wanted to say was important to him. 

“My...I have a… I haven’t told you much about my family yet…” Bad. This was going bad. Each sentence starter was poor. He felt foolish but kept going regardless. “When I left for Iran, I left behind my parents, grandmother, and my baby sister.” He felt like this was getting better. It was still wrong but better than before. His palms at his side were sweaty and warm. He was exhausted. He pushed the rising anxiety back down into the pit of his stomach from which it was trying to escape and continued with great hesitance behind every word.

“While I was away, my parents died. My gran took care of my baby sister and has been doing so for years. Well recently-“ he stopped and he wasn’t sure why. The words all got clogged at the base of his throat and refused to budge. He swallowed once, twice, three times and they remained imprisoned inside of him.

Ohm took his shaking hands gently into his own. Tyler seemed to take some comfort in this action as his shoulders dropped a tad. 

“Recently my grandmother passed away.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry,” Ohm hushed, giving a soft squeeze to Tyler’s still trembling hands. Tyler nodded, though he wasn’t sure why. He took a slow paced breath and dared to go on. He felt that the hard part was done and over with at least. The lump in his throat cleared and the words came to him with a little more ease.

“She died peacefully. But that’s not my issue at the moment. It’s fallen up to me to decide where my baby sister goes now.”

Ohm smiled. To him, this wasn’t a problem at all. He figured there was just stress behind bedroom arrangements and school. That was easy. That was stuff Ohm would be happy to help with. A sweet smile toyed with his face and Tyler felt the anxiety suddenly return in a violent wave that made him physically dizzy. He leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. 

“I’m going to…” there was a twitch in Ohm’s face that suddenly stopped his words. Ohm didn’t need to hear the rest of what Tyler was about to say because he’d heard it already. But Tyler had to say the words for himself, he had to hear them to confirm that he meant it. “I’m going to put her into the system.”

He’d thought about it. He’d weighed the good and the bass and the bads had beaten the good by miles. This was the right thing to do. It had to be. 

Ohm’s smile died suddenly. He let go of Tyler’s hands in an instant. Rage began to burn and itch away at the inside of his head and it took everything in him to muffle its frantic cries. 

Tyler felt a heavy weight suddenly sick inside of his chest and slowly drag down to his feet. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Ohm insisted flatly as he began to walk away. 

He had to turn his face away from Tyler in order to give himself time to try and regain his own composure. This action only worried Tyler more.

“Ohm, my line of work isn’t fit for raising a child! I’ve already died once. I got lucky and for whatever reason, I’m still here, but I don’t think god hands out third chances! If I die while she’s in my care, she goes into the foster system anyway.”

“That’s fine.”

“Clearly it’s not fine!” Tyler locked eyes with one of the other agents. He took one swooping look around and realized that people were starting to stare. He willed himself to control his volume in a vicious attempt to keep from causing any more of a scene.

“How old is she?”

“She’s twelve now.”

Ohm stopped dead in his tracks. His hands turned to fists in his pockets and for a second his vision danced in a crimson hue. He felt as though someone had wrapped a thousand rubber bands around his lungs as they refused to function without strain and pain. 

“You’re mad-“

Ohm spun around faster than what Tyler had anticipated. He jumped back a step in alarm and was hurt to see how in a matter of two minutes his beam of sunshine and joy had become this disheveled wreck of rage.

“I’m not mad, Tyler. I’m pissed.”

Tyler felt himself grow angry too. As far as they were concerned, this shouldn’t concern Ohm one bit. Hell, that just means that there’s not going to be some little girl living with them when they move in together, that should be a good thing. 

“I’m not happy with it either, but I really think this is what’s best for her. I don’t see why you’re so mad about this.”

“Have you ever been in the foster system?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. Now wasn’t really a good time to start fighting. Besides the fact that both had places to be, people were quieting themselves down just to watch the scene unfold. 

“No. Have you?”

“Yes!” Ohm shouted a little too loudly. “Yes, I have! You don’t know the families she’ll end up with. You don’t know if they'll be kind or cruel. It is so hard to get fostered after the age of twelve, the only people who take you in are the ones getting government benefits from it or the creeps. You send her away and she’ll remember that and resent you for it.”

Ohm was shaking. He forced himself to look up at the ceiling so as not to start crying and it wasn’t working. The most he could do was get his own haggard breathing back under control. He had years of aggravated silence eager and waiting to explode from him  
But now wasn’t the time and this wasn’t the right place. He sighed heavily and again turned away from Tyler fearing that if things got worse he’d end up saying something he might regret. Or worse, remembering things he’d drank to forget. 

“Maybe she won’t have bad families! You never know. Maybe she ends up happy and taken care of better than anything I could ever do. There’s a chance that can happen.”

“Just as there’s a chance she winds up having to put what little belongings she’s allowed to have in a trash bag and stay in a ratty little foster house sleeping on bed-bug infested mattresses with kids who have temper issues like you’ve never seen and a problem with being a little too handsy. She’ll get sick. She’ll be sad. And she’ll have only you to blame.”

This conversation wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Tyler had been expecting Ohm to be a little unhappy just because he was a family oriented guy. Seeing him this angry was a startling surprise and it bewildered him to find himself reacting also with untamed anger. 

“Not every foster kid ends up in a terrible place. That was your experience, not hers. We don’t know where she’ll end up or with who but not everyone is bad, Ohm!”

 

Ohm rolled his eyes. The lid has been ripped from the can at that point. He was remembering a vast majority of his childhood in overwhelming waves. He hadn’t smiled in years but he was craving a cigarette the way a starving man craves food. 

“That’s nothing compared to what I went through! And god bless her soul if she only suffers through half of the pain I got.”

“You’re being dramatic-!”

“When I was six, I got put into a rich foster family that was already housing three other older boys. The eldest used to pin me down to my bed. He’d use a mountain of pillows and blankets pillow to mute my screams. He told me that I was free to go tell who ever I wanted because nobody was going to believe me. He was right. Nobody ever did. I suffered for a year before I’d tried to run away. When they finally found me, they locked me in crawl space until CPS came to get me. This would be the first of many events I now have to drink to forget and you dare accuse me of being dramatic? If it happened to me then there’s a damn good chance that it could happen to her too!”

It was disturbing how intimately quiet the entire office had become in Ohm’s rant. Tyler stood shocked and silent, mouth hanging slightly agape as he watched the usually well tempered doctor explode with raw emotion. 

Ohm could feel his throat close in on itself, preventing him from breathing. His vision was growing dark and he felt dizzy. The office walls began to rot away. Spiders crawled along his arms and hands and he couldn’t shake them off. It smelled like mold and mud. It was cold, so very very cold. He forced himself away from hyperventalating and quickly looked aroun d’esprits to get rid of the flash back. He rapidly listed every little thing he saw with as much detail as he could put into it. The office, he was in the office, and Susanne was wearing that annoyingly bright orange scarf again that matched her earnings she’d gotten as a secret Santa gift. Her phone’s hold light was blinking. The picture of her son and husband was facing her, both boys smiling wide and holding a rather large trout. While the family was in no way his, he took comfort in their faces upon recognizing the fact that he knew their names and he knew where he was and he knew he wasn’t in danger. Slowly his heart began to steady itself and his throat allowed air to return to his burning lungs. He felt pride knowing that he’d avoided another panic attack. For the most part. He took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, trying to push away the rest of the still smoldering anxiety he harbored.

“Every second I was sitting there in the darkness I hated my brothers for leaving me there to rot. Don’t you dare do the same to your sister. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tell a lovely lady that her dearly beloved wife is dead. Good day.”

Ohm turned on his heel once more and saw himself to the elevators. Tyler wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run after him or not. Having waited too long, he watched Ohm vanish behind the cold metal doors and cursed to himself. He turned to rejoin Evan in his office and wasn’t all too suspended to find most of the office staring wide eyed at the spectacle. Tyler didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. 

 

He knocked twice on his own office door, startling Evan who’d barely heard any of their fight. He jumped to his feet with a comforting smile. Evan didn’t like conflict. He tried to avoid it. An angry Tyler meant that the ride to the gay stripper bar was going to be a dangerous and frightening one. Valuing his life, as he and Luke had only recently finalized their plans to go to Greece and not wanting to fuck that up for his husband, he did his best to try and lighten the mood. 

“We headed off then?”

“Yeah. We’re not making any stops along the way, so if you need anything go and get it now.”

“I’m all good to go,” Evan chirped cheerfully. Tyler groaned and turned to head down to the company parking garage. He took the stairs to avoid possibly running back into his feet ypset boyfriend. 

Driving while distressed is never a good idea. It’s a dangerous game to play. But Tyler liked driving. In fact, driving always had this magical effect on him and after a good drive, he found that he was often much more calm than before. Of course, music and good company always helped maintain a good mood. 

Evan knew what Tyler needed and wasted no time supplying it. He hunted through the many CD discs in the glove compartment until he found just the right one. He skipped tracks until his fingers hurt. Finally he found the one song he needed and he blasted it at full volume while attempting to scream along with it. Try angrily scream-singing to “Sweet Home Alabama” and not laughing. Evan’s voice was begging him to stop but he held out until Tyler was smiling and screaming right along with him. And he knew then and there that his job was done. It cost him his ability to speak for the next three days, but as far as he was concerned that had been a needed and worth it sacrifice. 

Tyler was in high spirits once more by the time they finally pulled into the Lipstick parking lot. Considering the rather early hours of the day (and day of the week) the place was unusually busy for most strip clubs, gay or otherwise. 

The music was pulsating past the thick metal door. The bouncer was glad to let them in, although he watched Evan curiously trying hard to remember where he’d seen his face before. He gave up quickly. The constantly flashing bright lights made it rather difficult to see anything beyond their noses. Slowly the halls way gave way to a large plaza. A stage stood dead center of the room surrounded by stools, some with occupants and some were empty. Lights ran along the the edge. A pole protruded from the ground of a rounded end where a scantily clad woman was suspended by her elbows in the air kicking her legs about with perfect grace to mimic that of a mermaid. Dollar bills were tucked randomly within the strap around her thigh and her purple panties. 

An equally scantily clad young man was walking around waiting the booths and tables placed further from the stage. He had on a strangely twisted smile, one that looked like it was painfully forced upon him. Still he trotted up to the two agents and brought with him an air of welcomed friendliness. 

“Can I see you two gentlemen to a booth?”

“No, but you can show us to your current manager,” Tyler spoke quietly so as not to cause any unwanted stress around this strange environment. He removed his badge and flashed it so the waiter could see it. The boy turned strangely ple, or perhaps it was the lights again, Tyler couldn’t tell. He hated this place, it was terrible for interrogations. He’d be lucky if they left this place with any information at all. 

“I’m afaraid she’s not in today. She hasn’t been for a couple days now. I can get you our assistant manager if you’d like.”

“Yes that’ll do,” Evan rushed. 

The waiter lead the two into the employee’s only back room. It appeared to be a rather homey place that had another stripper resting their feet, their high heels set off to the side. They glanced up curious to see who it was. They cast a puzzled look from the two strangers to the waiter who gave a subtle shake of his head to avoid any and all questions at this point. He stopped and smiled once more to the two.

“I’ll be right back,” he informed gently before excusing himself further into the back. 

The other stripper frowned at the two guests, “You guys cops or something?”

“Yeah, or something,” Tyler answered sharply. He watched the stripper as the stripper watched him. Both were trying hard to size the other up and make a fast judge of character.

“We’re up to code. We all get paid, and paid well. The strippers don’t get touched. Our food is properly prepared and cooked. Our drinks are legal. We got no reason for your ugly mugs to be showing up here causing trouble.”

“Son, how often have you talked to the cops?” 

Tyler crossed his arms. He cocked an eyebrow. This one was a brave and stupid little shit head. The man shifted in his seat scowling.

“Enough.”

“Then you should probably already know that this kind of attitude hurts you more than it helps. Don’t you?”

The stripper was quiet. He sank back into the chair with a huff and returned to messaging his aching feet. If he never had to wear heels again it would be too soon. The waiter returned now followed by a well decorated woman. She gave a professional smile and extended her hand.

“Zero Doxy. How can I help you boys today?”

Both agents took the time to shake her hand. Tyler watched the waiter leave the room out of the corner of his eye. Evan spoke first. He forced a softer tone to try and maintain the calmness kept in the room.

“I’m afraid we come with bad news,” he started slowly. The stripper shot them a sharp glare. Zero gave a curious glance towards his direction but neither said anything. Evan went on, “It doesn’t involve the legalities of this place, I can assure.” The stripper looked away, seeming more at ease now. Doxy, in the entirely other hand, appeared beyond confused.

“What happened?”

“Does a Michelle Minx Work here?” Tyler kicked in. He removed his notepad from his pocket and fished free the pen to go with it. Now both in the room appeared nervous. 

“Yes? She’s been missing for a couple days now. Why? Has she done something to get herself in trouble?”

Tyler shook his head. Evan sighed. He always hated this part. And while he was ready to give the news in the most gentle way he could possibly manage, Tyler was watching their every facial que. The stripper looked scared, not worried, and the woman looked anxious. He tried not to linger on this for too long, people react to news differently. Hopefully they were just concerned for their boss and friend.

“We found her earlier this morning.”

“She’s Ok?” The excitement behind her voice almost hurt to hear. 

“She’s dead,” Tyler dead panned, “Foul play suspected.”

“Oh god,” the woman sighed as she took a seat almost on top of the stripper. He hugged her, their hands intertwining and holding on tightly. 

“Do you know if anyone who might want to hurt her? Did she have any enemies or angry customers with a bit of a temper and habits of violence?”

The woman thought for a second before shaking her head. She forced back a sobbing sound and summoned her voice through it, “No. Our customers have always been of the calmer sort except for one bachelor party. But none of the Johns have ever tried anything with any of my crew.”

“Michelle wouldn’t have any enemies more than the usual gay woman trying to run a business would. She has some homophobic neighbors but I doubt they’d kill her. Her wife, maybe, but not her.”

“And why is that?”

“She’d easily kick their ass. Michelle is...was...a tough woman who could handle herself. She always wanted to be prepared. She knew how to fight off attackers, she always carried around both a small knife and pepper spray. She was ready for anything.” The stripper kept his voice low. It was amazing to see how the sas had vanished and now ont sorrow could be found. He smiled fondly thinking over it for a moment, “She wanted to be the strong one who’d protect her wife from anything and everything.”

Tyler scribbled down what all he could. Thus far he’d taken note of the homophobic neighbors and the wife. He’d also have to check the woman’s belongings again to see if she did in fact have her pepper spray and blade. He glanced over to Tyler puzzled. If she was so ready, then how did she managed to get attacked and killed? He slipped his pen back into his pocket and frowned.

“We’re going to have to speak to all of you and your staff privately one by one. Is there somewhere we can do that?”

“Um yeah, there’s the dressing room. It’s probably the most private place in this joint,” the woman said getting to her feet. She turned to the stripper with a sad expression, “Ritz, can you go get Sinow?” The stripper hopped off the couch and slipped off to fetch the waiter. The woman turned back to the men and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize greatly for the wait. I got sick and just stayed sick. That word looks funny. I hate the word sauce. Say it out loud a couple times slowly. Hate it too now? Good. I’m sorry. :)


	5. Five

Staring at dirt particles was perhaps the least fun inducing part of his job. Craig was far happier playing with his bugs, animals, and plant matter. He liked looking at the different bacteria found in weird places and he liked seeing what strange fibers could be identified. But minerals were tedious to work with. So many could be found practically everywhere. It’s busy work that often leads to nothing more than some parking lot or a gas station. In most instances, Craig wouldn’t bother to continue investigating into the dirt particularly for too long. But he’d found a rather interesting issue while he was searching and now he was eager to confirm his suspicions. 

He pulled himself away from his microscope in dumbfounded astonishment. He plucked the pétri dish from its resting spot on his desk and added it to the metal tray. He rolled his busted swivel chair over to his computer and haphazardly began to fill out his report on what all he’d found. For this being just dirt, he’d have to admit that it was a stupendously lucky find! He bolted up right from his chair and ran from his room. A few of the other doctors watched him pass with judgmental looks drawn about their features. There he goes again, they thought to themselves with a roll of their eyes. Craig didn’t have the time or patience to stop and notice the strange looks he was getting. He turned the right corner and ran into Marcel’s office. 

Marcel looked beyond stressed crouched over his desk staring down at the test results from the blood samples he’d collected. And while his eyes were transfixed upon his work, his mind was miles away god knows where. The Igor was startling. Craig found himself, for the first time in years, hesitant to disturb the man. Still, he cleared his throat a little too loud, snapping Marcel back down to earth. He jumped a tad and tried hard to appear that he had been hard at work and not off in lala land. 

“What did you need, Craig?”

“Your time and attention, my good man,” Craig chimed sweetly. He moved over to the microscope and placed his slide beneath the lense. He spent only a moment adjusting the microscope to get a clear look at what he’d found and grinned at his boss.

“You know how we never use dirt in our investigations?”

“It’s rather useless, yes.”

“Not this time! Oh boy, not this time at all!”

Craig wasted no time physically dragging his boss over to his computer. He was beyond excited to show him what he’d found in the mass spectrometer results. A series of graphs showed up on the computer with Craig’s impatient demand. Marcel stared at them with very little interest.bugs and particles were hardly comparable to flesh. Marcel didn’t understand it. He was happy to have such an expert do that for him. Once Craig was pleased with the displayed information, he took a step back.

“The foliage used to cover the body isn’t found anywhere near where she was found. It’s the same species, same plant type, but different family. Like how you can find two German shepherds but they aren’t related.”

“Ok, so what?”

“Man,” Craig groaned in disappointment, “Who gets a doctorate in anatomy and physiology but doesn’t understand how dna works.” Graig sighed heavily and excused used the graphs for later use. He instead pulled up two small maps. One of the area around Lipstick and the other being a map of the area around where the body was found.

“I know how dna works, you jack ass! But this still means nothing to me.”

Craig felt like his whole world was throwing a fit inside his head. This was all so perfectly clear to him. He couldn’t Phaethon how no one ever understood what he was saying. He took a breath and did his best to slow his excited speech. 

“I began looking at the two predominant suspect sights, her place of occupation and her dump sight, and I compared the dna I got from the foliage to the dna of the same type of plants found in a three mile radius of them. I didn’t get a single match.”

“Ok?”

“Who ever left her there came prepared with their own foliage.”

“Who does that?”

“Who kills a woman? I don’t know, Marcel, I can’t read minds! Anyway, if we find where this plant came from, find it’s sisters and brothers, we find where she was killed.”

Marcel sat in silence for a moment as the words worked their way into his brain. He made a small humph sound and got to his feet, dragging his chair with him back to his metal dissection table.

“So what do you need to find those sibling plants?”

“A team.”

“No.”

“If I go alone, it’ll take me hours, days even! Do you want this case to be done and over with or not? I mean, I think it’s safe to say that everyone would very much like to get back to the serial killer cases.”

“They’re not serial killer cases. Not yet.”

“Legally,” Craig pointed out. Marcel nodded. He, much to the disbelief around the Marsh, was very certain that the killings were by the same murderer and that if they didn’t find them soon, a third would join. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. It was scaring Brock half to death and rightfully so. Marcel wanted nothing to do with this current case. To him, it wasn’t as important. This woman’s murderer could have been a one time thing. And if they get away, so what? There was an entire room of unsolved murders. All of their murderers were still out and about. What’s one more? But see, none of those cases were of a rather flamboyant threatening issue. No, Marcel didn’t want to solve this case. But he did want to be given the green thumb to continue with the serial killer case. He gave a reluctant sigh and turned back to face the overly excited doctor.

“Fine. I’ll let you take Smitty-“ before the name could finish leaving his mouth he knew he’d made a mistake. 

Just yesterday he’d caught the two on the ground in the break room wrestling with a tube of seran wrap. From what he could tell from his mere seconds of the scene, Smitty had been trying to suffocate Craig and was being overpowered. Craig has his head half wrapped in crumpled and tangle plastic wrap and was smiling like a mad man who’d just successfully escaped from the asylum. The two really couldn’t be trusted alone with each other. Not is anything was to get done. 

He saw Craig’s face light up with pure joy. A sinister grin smeared over his features and he rubbed his hands together the way he’d seen one too many cartoon villains do so. The only thing he was missing was the evil laugh. And he would have laughed but he knew that his laugh was far to high pitched and friendly no matter how he warped it. Marcel shook his head.

“I take it back.”

“No take backs! You said I can take Smitty, so I’m taking Smitty! Thanks Marcel! Be back in a bit!” Craig called this out as he fled from the room. The second he passed through the two glass doors he grinned and spoke mostly to himself,” Don’t expect Smitty to be though.”

“What?” 

“Nothing!”

Craig wasted no time paging Smitty and telling him to gather his shit and get ready to go on another adventure. Smitty, upon reviewing the message, wondered for a brief yet overwhelming moment of this would be his last day on earth. Hoping to delay the inevitable, he took his slow and sweet time getting back to his office. Which was probably for the better.

Luke was staring at the still blank computer screens. He wanted to get some work done, maybe help Ohm with his profiling or something, however it was proving to be a rather difficult task to do much of anything with all of the systems down as they were. He sighed heavily and kicked back. As far as he was concerned this was fine. He could be happy to get paid for just sitting there. Just because he could, didn’t mean that he was. Brock noticed his unhappiness and tried his best to lighten up the mood with what little he could.

“It might be another prostitute case.”

“Doubt it. Most whore cases involve less decapitation, and more traces of...anyway I just don’t think this is one of those cases.”

Brock stood from his seat with a groan. His tired and stiff joints popped with joy, glad to be moving again after the agonizing wait. He walked around their islands of malfunctioning computers and began tapping a half hearted and poorly kept rythme along the rather new machines. 

“Alright, so why do you think she got ganked then?”

Luke thought for a second. His mind ran a thousand miles in circles pulling out every past case he’d ever worked on trying desperately to see if this one was similar to any of those from the past. He pressed his lips together in thought before finally rushing into the conclusion.

“Alright, so get this, normal woman, running a rather successful gay bar, treats her staff and friends real well, right?” Brock nodded and Luke continued. “Everyone thinks she is just one neat lady. No one would ever want to hurt her. Except maybe her wife who isn’t too fond of the idea that the woman she married works in a place where you’re supposed to flirt with strangers and offer a hell of a time.”

“You think the wife did it?”

The shock in Brock’s voice brought it up several more octaves than it was meant to and it cracked childishly, something it hadn’t done since he was still just an acne covered teen. He tried to pretend that he didn’t just make such a sound and was glad that Luke was too absorbed in his thoughts to have really noticed.

“No. Maybe not the wife. But someone else, a liver on the side maybe, or no...they thought they were lovers because she was such a flirt, a tease if you will, and when things couldn’t work out because Mix is a devoted and loving wife, they get mad and killed her.”

“Ah yes. The good ol’ if I can’t have her, no one can phenomenon.”

“Exactly!” Luck shouted suddenly sitting up straight. He sank back into his seat with a small discontent frown. “No.”

“What?”

“Ohm days that normally if love is involved, the face would be covered, she would have been hidden a tad bit better. She was decapitated and abandoned. That’s normally it what a lover or jealousy wanna be lover would do to the body. Sometimes those freaks even keep the bodies and pretend that they aren’t dead. This? This was sinister. She had an enemy.”

This would be the part where the two would go snooping through her personal things, such as her emails, her phone, and whatever else. But they needed Ohm to return with such things first and they needed their computers to be up and running. Until then, they couldn’t do a damned thing.

“What do you think her last night alive was like?” Brock asked once the silence between the two became utterly unbearable. 

Luke shrugged. He swiveled about to and fro and pouted. “I feel like she was having a hectic day. Like maybe her wife found out their gas line was leaking somewhere, she blew out a tire on her way to work, it was a busy day at work, and she got mad and stressed and took it out on the wrong person. I think that person already disliked her and this was just the tipping point. So they killed her, realized what they did and tried to hide her but were pushed on time so they did a shit job.”

“Reasonable.”

Many cases had almost been exactly what Luke had just described. It was a sad reality that Brock still struggled to accept. He hated humanity at times. He was about to add in his own opinion on the matter when Luke suddenly gasped with a new Light brought to his eyes.

“No! You might be right. Maybe she and her wife were fighting, going through a rough patch. Minx grew tired of the loveless nights or wanted more so she starts having one night flings with whoever she can find in the bar that night. And her wife doesn’t like that. Her wife knows this but hasn’t got any proof. So every now and again she does a random check in. And one night she finds her wife in the arms of another woman. In a fit of pure rage, the wife takes her head so that she doesn’t have to see it and dumps the body where she thinks we won’t find it.”

“That’s..” Brock struggled to conjure up the correct word. Creative? Possible? Ridiculous? None of these quite fit despite how they near perfectly described his thoughts. Unable to pick one or mix them all together, he gave up. “Wow. Unlikely but wow.”

Luke got up from his seat and moved over to the far wall. He pulled back the curtains and looked about the city sky line. It was just as smoggy as usual and the smile from the blazing mountains didn’t help in the matter. Before long, they’d have to evacuate too if things got any worse. He didn’t want to think about that. 

“How would you spend your last night on earth? Like, say you knew you were about to be murdered but couldn’t stop it, so you just got to spend your last 24 hours however you pleased. What would you do?”

Brock huffed in thought and allowed himself to slide from his chair onto the floor. He stared up at the ceiling and had a faint feeling like he was a small child again caught in a summer vacation’s boredom. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I dunno. Something with Marcel.”

“Sex?”

“I was thinking about cuddling or sight seeing, but yeah, I’m down for sex. Oh! Sorry, this might get a little personal, but we’re in the market for a new bed frame, we broke ours last night, and I remembered you saying something about how you and Evan just got a new bed. Any suggestions?”

Brock was barely allowed to finish his question at all because Luke was howling in laughter, interrupting it with a choirboys of “Wait!” And “Hood on.” Brock looked at him questioningly. Luke took a second to get himself under control.

“Man, forget about- the bed frame?! How the fuck- It’s a bed frame!”

Brock turned a very strange shade of pink very few had seen. He laughed along and sat up on his elbows.

“How do you think you break a bed frame?”

“Construction I hope, but I know damn well that you and Marcel ain’t doing construction on your house at night. Nuh-uh!”

Smitty walked in on a vast many conversations in his life, conversations that changed his world views or opinions on others. He’d walked in on his parents discussing how worried they were for his future once. That hurt. That hurt a lot. He’d walked in on Craig and Brian fighting over the phone about where to eat for dinner that evening. Brian won with Taco Bell. He’d once walked in on Tyler and Evan describing the worst cases they’d ever found. After years of this, Smitty was certain that he’d never walk in on anything and have it surprise him. He was wrong. He took two steps into the shared office and instantaneously regret his decision. He hadn’t caught a word before the ones spewing from Brock’s mouth as he lay sprawled out on the floor dazing absentmindedly up into the nowhere above him. 

“...Cause the six inch one was too small but Macrel and I agreed that we wouldn’t get anything higher than him. And that’s surprisingly limiting. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Oh no, I completely understand. Evan and I once snapped off one of the kitchen table’s legs because we thought that the spilt live wouldn’t hurt anyone. I think Evan ended up with a bruise on his cheek and a ripped ass. Couldn’t walk for several weeks. I felt so bad. Also, try getting beads. Not bigger than Marcel, better than regular dildos. A lovely compromise. That and they’re easier to hide when you go traveling.”

This entire conversation happened in rapid succession. Smitty couldn’t believe his ears. He didn’t want to believe his ears. His face turned a vibrant red and he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. Maybe he could walk away and pretend he didn’t hear anything. But Brock kept going.

“That’s nice to know. You know who else has some amazing advice? Tyler.”

“Tyler?”

“The things he and Ohm do. My god. He told Marcel some small tips and I saw stars three times within one hour. He was telling me just the other day that if you-“

Smitty just couldn’t let this continue. He didn’t want to know an of this. The images popping up inside his head were not images he wanted to have of his coworkers and friends. He didn’t want them to know just how much he heard, so he back peddled out into the hall and slowly walked back in, announcing his arrival with a blatantly faked sneeze loud enough that it startled the birds outside their window. The two older men turned to see who it was. 

A smile ran to Brock’s lips, and soon to Luke’s. They knew. Maybe if Smitty hadn’t tried to fake a sneeze and fail so bad, they wouldn’t have figured it out so soon. But the look in Smitty’s eyes was a dead give away regardless. Both laughed and Smitty only felt worse about this whole situation.

“You guys don’t need to be so rough in bed, jeez,” he grumbled. He quickly raced across the room, taking time to go around the kool-aid stain still sank deep into toe carpeting and snatched up his needed gear. He left the room knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with nearly anyone for weeks! Son of a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I passed all my finals! Holy shit! I didn’t see that happening. So this chapter is here to serve as a good luck charm! May you all, also, pass your finals.


	6. Six

Evan walked about the entirety of Lipstick taking photos of the establishment to give to Brock and Luke for later analyzing. At the second, he wasn't sure how the woman was killed. He was leaning heavily on speculation that she’d been decapitated. That's usually what gets most victims who just so happen to be missing their heads, after all. He was looking for anything that could possibly be used to pry someone’s head from their shoulders and had thus far been left with nothing. And while greatly disappointed, he wasn’t surprised.

He waited, rather impatiently, for Tyler to return from chatting with Ritz. He was sick of this place. He needed more information and could only hope that the nerds back at the Marsh could give unto him what he so desperately desired. 

Tyler wished that he’d brought Ohm after all. The second he’d gotten everyone alone, they all had something to say about the others. He found himself suddenly in the most annoying game of he said-she said-well I heard ever. Doxy had wasted no time diving into a ten minute tangent about how Minx was a phenomenal boss who just had a bad habit of picking favorites, and Doxy was the favorite. She went on to explain how this made Ritz undeniably jealous, as he’d been fighting tooth and tail to gain said favoritism. Apparently there were benefits such as payment under the table, better hours, paid lunches, and more. Doxy then sighed with a heavy heart and claimed that it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Ritz’ jealousy had gotten the best of him, and he’d been the one to have killed Minx. She then began sobbing and the rest of her words were unintelligible from then on out.

Tyler had then spoken to Sinow, who’s cheerful demeanor fled from him the very second Tyler shut the doors. He took a seat, suddenly exhausted, and moped. It took Tyler several minutes to get the boy to talk, and at long last he did. He started by saying that he couldn’t believe Minx was gone, and asked if they were certain it was her. He said that she had a habit of following her impulsive thoughts, and maybe this was just another one of those crazy moments in her life. Tyler asked if she disappeared often, and Sinow said that she rarely left town. Sinow then said that Doxy had been pressuring Minx for a partnership, something Minx was very much against. Despite this, Doxy pushed and pushed, often throwing fits, acting out, and taking her frustrations out on others usually with snide comments or picking fights in the parking lot after hours. He said that it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d poked a fight with Minx and some terrible accident happened. After stating this, he found that he had nothing more to say.

Ritz, Tyler hoped, would have something he could actually use. A name. A place. Something. Anything! Ritz’ pensive attitude didn’t drop when the doors closed. He eyed Tyler from across the room. Tyler wasn’t able to do so much as say a single syllable before Ritz began to speak in a low, steady, and rather accusatory tone.

“What makes you think fowl play was involved?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose any details, but judging by the way we discovered her remains, it’s safe to assume this was no accident.”

Ritz nodded, apparently pleased with the sort of given answer. He adjusted himself in his chair and sighed, bringing his hands to his face. He groaned and returned his partial glare towards Tyler.

“It wasn’t her wife, in case you have her on your suspects list. Michelle and her little lady were far too close to ever hurt each other.”

“I never said she was-“

“Good. Keep it that way. If you’re looking into that sweet woman, you’re wasting your time. If I were you, I’d be looking into what Minx was hiding from us. She was a good woman, a wild woman, and she was a shady woman. Now, I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, god rest her soul, but Minx wasn’t the type who liked to behave. She was on the phone regularly having shouting matches with someone. Nobody we needed to worry about, she used to say. Money kept disappearing from the registers. Nothing big, a ten here, thirty there, fifty cents here. We thought it was Doxy, the girl’s got sticky fingers. But Doxy isn’t the type to take from the registers. Costumers? Maybe. But not from the registers. Minx was up to something. I promise you, you find out what, you find out who killed her. And I’d be mindful of Sinow. The kid’s quite the character.”

He then said nothing more. Had he’d been Ohm, maybe he could have picked up on certain verbal queues that he’d missed and been able to calculate an appropriate response. But he was dumbstruck. A little alarmed and more confused than anything, Tyler thanked Ritz for his time and cooperation and quickly excused himself to return to Evan’s side.

Evan was more than pleased to see his partner return. The loud music was pulsating in his skull and the flashing lights were messing with his eyes. That aside, strange memories were bobbing back into his head of a strange time he’d much rather forget. 

“Get anything good?”

“Doxy wanted to be partners and is a bit of a thief. Ritz is a jealous man. Sinow‘s a shifty character. Oh yeah, and apparently, Minx got into shouting matches with someone over the phone on a regular basis.”

“What over?”

“I don’t know. We have her phone back at the Marsh, right?” Evan thought for a bit. He wasn’t sure. There was a large possibility that Ohm was fetching that at the moment. Regardless, they’d have it in no time and once they did, they’d have their answers. Happy with this, Evan made his way back to the truck. He felt that if he so much as looked at the place for a moment longer that he’d start puking. 

Ohm was welcomed politely inside by a grieving widow. The news of her departed wife pulled buckets of tears from her eyes. At least she wasn’t hysterical. Ohm hates the hysterical people, they were so much harder to get a read on or any useful information from. But Krism was as calm as she could allow herself to be and was quickly rattling off every last detail she thought might help. 

Ohm hands couldn’t keep up with her rapid rambling though they tried. His chicken scratch squished together tight and sloppy, making it nearly unreadable. His trained ears listened impatiently for anything that could give them all a jump start on where to start looking, having decided that this might be one of those cases that had next to nothing to do with work and more along the lines of some outsider who'd already been part of the deceased’s life. He gathered such from Krisim, who between whimpering sighs told Ohm that Minx liked to keep work and her home life very separate. She didn't hang out with her co-workers once the work day was done just as she didn't speak to outsiders during work hours. If this truly was the case, then Tyler and Evan we're just wasting their time over at Lipstick and would soon come to realize that. They'd all wind up back at square one. 

Ohm hoped to give them the pieces needed to guide the case in any sort of direction. Krisim got to her feet in a rush, life returning to her eyes for only a second. She gave no reasonings behind why and Ohm had to admit to himself that he was scared. He glanced about the room quickly, wondering if this would be his last action before stricken unconscious by someone involved with this murder who didn't want to be found out about. It's happened to him before, but before he usually had back up. Evan had helped him the last time. The man who rendered Ohm as helpless as a baby on the floor then wound up not being involved in the slightest bit and was just trying to protect his girlfriend from being a suspect by making himself one. This was a pointless act as she wasn't a suspect until then. But this time he didn't have Evan to back him up and if someone was now there, pipe in hand, ready to knock the lights out of Ohm’s eyes, take the wife and leave him there until he inevitably woke up, or didn't, then he'd be on his own and no one would know why he was taking so long. The thought scared him more than any actual threat ever could.

Luckily, he was alone. Krisim wasn't fleeing from the return of some suspicious character not yet introduced. She returned swiftly with a little wooden box wrapped up tight in tinfoil. She handed it over as quickly as she could.

“This was the only thing of hers I wasn't allowed to touch. She used to weigh it to make sure I didn't try taking a peak and replace the foil. I respected her wishes. I don't know what's in here, but if it's so secretive, then maybe it’ll help.” 

Ohm had to admit, this was far better than getting knocked out and left to die. This could be helpful! Ohm gently thanked the woman for her time and apologized one last time for her tragic and sudden loss. He handed over his contact information and left. 

The body is built to detect danger. Humans can hear very well, the world around us is simply loud. The brain can direct when someone is staring at us, even while we sleep. Ohm stepped outside and was stopped by the sudden and very strong feeling of being watched. He figured it could have been a nosy neighbor wondering why the lesbian couple across the street was getting visited by the feds, but this wasn't that kind of staring. Having been hurt too many times to count before, and terrified of ever being in that state again, Ohm had long ago learned to look for signs like this. The feeling was intense and unrelenting. He tried to reasonably dismiss the feeling as paranoia and PTSD, but it still remained with him. He climbed into his car and used every mirror available at his disposal to glance about the street, looking for anything with eyes that could be causing this. He found nothing and that scared him more. He half convinced himself that this was only proof that it was all in his head, but all of his head was telling him otherwise. He didn't have time to listen to it and he knew better than to go and investigate. Reluctantly, he started up his car and made a hasty retreat back to the lab where the box could be analyzed and it's value to the case could be determined. 

Slowly, once he managed to get to the crowded highway, the feeling of being watched passed and he felt at peace again. Today hadn't been a good day and he figured that once he got home he should fix himself up a nice cup of tea, cuddle up with the dog, and just read to pass time. Nothing else could sooth his nerves any better. But for now, he'd have to finish this rather horrendous day at work. He arrived just seconds before Smitty and Craig could be spotted in a truck headed off on their own adventure. Ohm thought for a second about how that couldn't only end badly and moved on to find Marcel. He found Brock first.

Brock had been, for the past hour, fighting with his computer. It only recently relented to work again and now it was acting up all over again. The IT guys said that what was happening was beyond them and suggested hiring a white hat hacker. This only pissed Brock off more because they had a white hat hacker and she'd always done well before. He was stressed beyond his limits and just wanted something sweet, maybe a doughnut or a chocolate bar. Something. And after he found whatever that something was, he didn't want to go back to work. He wanted to go straight home! 

Still, despite his rather sour mood, upon spotting his dear friend, he felt a bit more relaxed than before. He sighed and slowed his angry storming to a sweet stop and smiled.

“You look like shit.”

“I'm alright.”

“Maybe so, but you sure as hell don't look it,” Brock stated firmly. 

Ohm nodded, not really interested in arguing at this moment. Brock was fun to argue with, he usually brought up points Ohm never would have thoughts about. They'd once spent over a week arguing over how society would use sandwiches as currency. Ohm insisted upon the fact that the most valuable part of the sandwich would be the fillings inside, Brock argued for the bread being most valuable. Both decided upon letus being the most valuable as it could act as both the breading and the insides. The two now ask to borrow a head of cabbage in exchange for common items. 

“It's been a shit day. I've got shit for leads. Just this box, and I don't even get to look inside it yet.” He handed the box over quickly, the plastic bag it was kept inside for procedural reasons making an irritating crinkling sound. 

Brock took the box. He'd go through it later. He needed Ohm’s attention elsewhere at the moment. Before his computer started going on the fritz, he'd been able to look at Minx’s bank transactions. She ran Lipstick on her own. She kept her own account, the one she shared with her wife separate from the one attached to the strip club, as all business owners should. But that wasn't the issue. The issue Brock found was the fact that Minx had a third, more regularly used back account that got small little deposits, fifteen bucks here, thirty there...and the money would be withdrawn. Never spent with a card, always cash, making whatever she was spending the mystery money on completely unknown. 

“The wife give you any useful information to help build a character for this lady?”

“A bit,” Ohm lied. He couldn't answer Brock the way he wanted to, not yet. He was busy looking through the transactions trying to get a read on what could possibly be bought at $50 a piece. He began thinking out loud, a technique he rarely used as usually he couldn't answer his own questions when he just thought them quietly to himself. Hearing his thoughts out loud often helped organize things a bit better. “Sex, drugs, gambling.”

Brock had heard some strange things leave Ohm’s mouth before. He'd said some questionable things himself, today even. But that aside, it was still a surprise to hear such words tumble forward from a stone faced man. He blinked, wondering if he'd heard him right. 

“What now?”

“What do people buy anonymously? Sex, I don’t know how much $50 a week will get you, but it’s an option. Women have needs too and sometimes your partner isn't ready for what you want. Then there's drugs. Seems really underpriced, but also an option. And gambling. You don't buy anything but it is an addiction and we have GA meetings for a reason. All I know is you don't make a secret account and take $50 a week for groceries.”

Brock nodded, pretending to understand. When he was a kid, he had a brother who would eat his food no matter what. Being the younger and adopted of the two, he couldn't do anything to stop this. So he snuck and bought his own food and found little places to stash it. His favorite place had been the broken dishwasher. It was roomy and forgotten about. To him, sneaking to buy food was normal. Every now and again, he'd buy himself a treat he knew he'd want later and go to hide it, forgetting that Marcel actually used the dishwasher and be surprised. But Marcel never ate his food and when he did, he would always replace it. 

“What about gifts? Get the wife a little something now and again.”

“I thought so too at first, but while I was told that they had a very vocal relationship, not showy.”

Brock nodded again, and again didn't understand. He rarely told Marcel he loved him. He did, honest to God he loves Marcel to the moon and back again sixteen times over, but he never said it. He showed Marcel the extent if his undying adoration is small, lingering touches, surprise cheek kisses, and things like that. He felt like words had less meaning. 

“How do you say 'I love you’?”

“Hmm?”

Oh was miles away from this conversation. His mind had canceled sex out if the equation recalling that Krism had mentioned Minx being a bit of an explorer in the subject and how she was always happy to try new things too. She then got quiet and embarrassed wondering why she'd mention that. Grief does funny things to the mind. He doubted Minx was a gambler, as there would be huge boosts in the secret cash…

“How do you tell Tyler that you love him?”

He stared at Brock baffled by the sudden and apparently random question. His train of thought was subsequently lost to the endless oblivion. He watched it go with a soft sigh. 

“I don't know, I guess I just… I try to make him laugh.”

“That's it? That's a basic friendship.”

“Well, no I do more. I don't know. We’re sorta fighting at the second.”

“Over what?” Ohm shot Brock a look and Brock immediately felt himself regret asking the question. “Personal question, I'm sorry.”

“No, no you're fine. It’s more of a personal thing on his part that I really shouldn't have gotten involved in but did anyway. So I'm in the wrong and I don't know how to apologize because I'm still angry.”

Now Brock was really interested. He took a seat and watched Ohm curiously, hoping that no one would come in and interrupt them any time soon. He prompted Ohm to do the same. They'd have to wait for Tyler and Evan to get back before they could look through the box and exchange news anyway so they had time to kill. Oh gave in, taking a seat as well and taking a second to get his words together in the right order.

“His grandmother recently passed and he has a baby sister who had been staying with her. He wants to put her into foster care for good reasons. He has a dangerous job and doesn't want to die while she's in his care, and all that good jazz. But she's an older kid, past the age most get adopted into good families, and being a foster kids myself, I don't want her to go through what I did.”

“Not all foster homes are bad.”

“I spent 11 years in the system and never once ran into a good family.”

“And I spent 17 years in the system and found my home when I turned 14. Not all foster families are bad.” 

Brock had been a safe haven baby. For whatever reason, his mom just couldn't keep him, and had dropped him off at a fire station. He'd been adopted right away to a supposedly loving family. The family just so happened to love booze more than him and he often had to find his own meals in his neighbors trash. He didn't understand why one of his teachers for so upset when she found out about this. He thought it was normal. Still, CPS came later that day and he left with them at the age of eight. From then on he'd been bounced around. People learned quickly that kids can be expensive or difficult to deal with. Most families he'd had were supposed to be only temporary, like when an exchange student gets a host. His foster system was small and didn't have enough rooms for all it housed. Every one of his hosts tried to find him a stable and terminate home with them, but the tides of fate had been against them. Eventually one host was able to do what the others couldn't and Brock found himself in a safe and happy home. He loved it. He loved his foster dad. And in return he was loved. His family's had been nothing but kind to him. He wouldn't be where he was now if it hadn't been for all of them. 

“You're right, and I know you're right, and I'm being pessimistic and I need to stop, but I just can't. It's avoidable, the possibility of the good and the bad, and I would rather avoid the bad all together than risk it because sometimes the bad can be really bad.”

“What's the worst thing that happened to you that's so bad you'd rather never attempt to find the good in the system?”

“This isn't the place to talk about that, and as much as I love you, you’re not the right person to tell. And while o can't and won't tell you, and can say that I don't wish what I went through on anyone. And of o can avoid or prevent it, I will.”

“Fair enough,” Brock said past his slight offense. He turned towards the screen displaying the bank account and frowned. 

“So what are you thinking?”

“About her? Uh, I think she wasn't a gambler, as there should be spikes in the money deposits. I doubt it was sex because her wife said they were both experienced in the bedroom, and I doubt it's drugs because we would have heard about it from Marcel.”

“He's having computer troubles right now. The screenings got delayed. If it is a drug issue we should hear about it once the stupid processor starts working again.”

He hated how everything has been breaking. It's not like their systems were expensive because they were good and not supposed to break like this. Oh wait! That's right, they are. Brock lolled back in his chair with a frustrated huff.

Miles away, at a shells gas station, Tyler was giving the exact same sigh. Evan was seated in the truck waiting patiently yet again for Tyler. His growing annoyance of this action doubled when he spotted Tyler walk off somewhere out of sight, abandoning both the truck and his partner. Unable to care anymore, Evan cranked up the volume of the radio and let the currently playing ad about Viagra blast the speakers. He sat back in his chair and began to count the passing seconds.

Tyler could faintly hear the ad from where he stood. But it's rather irritating announcer voice vanished from his mind as he quickly tapped away at his phone’s number pad and waited anxiously for the other end to pick up. When it did, he suddenly felt as if he should never have called. Still, that tiny voice wormed it's way into his ear with a fast and gentle, “Hello?”

“Hey, kid. How you holding up?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Tyler hoped that the voice would then chirp back with a baffled “Who’s this?” Or even just hang up on him entirely. 

“It's quiet. I feel like I should be more sad and I’m not? I don't know, Tyler, I think something’s wrong with me?”

“This shock will pass,” Tyler absently commented. He remembered Ohm saying something like that to the brother of a murder victim. Tyler couldn't understand how someone could feel nothing after the death of a loved one. It took years of field work to learn that they weren't feeling nother, per say, but everything. Once they could process what happened, that feeling of emptiness and disconnection suddenly turned into this loud mess of chaos. And now he felt like an ass knowing that she'd soon wake up to reality and drown in the wave of emotions no twelve year old should ever have to feel.

“I guess so. You doing ok?”

“I didn't know Gramma as well as you.”

“That's true. You coming to her funeral then?”

What kind of question was that? “The Wilds always go to each other's funerals. Remember uncle Joey? The man wasn't related to us in anyway shape or form and we went to his. He was part of this family. Of course I'm going.”

The elephant in the room was staring him down, angry and ferrel. It gashed it's tusks at him with threatening stomps of its feet the size of houses. He didn't want to face it and yet everywhere he looked, it was there. 

“Are you sure? Iowa’s a bit far from California, isn't it?”

“I'll manage. These people owe me some vacation days anyway. Listen, I heard that you're currently staying at a neighbor’s right?” A soft sound was given as an affirmative. “I wanted to ask you what you wanted, you know, in the form of care.”

“What?”

“Sorry, that sounded more robotic than it should have. I wanted to know where you wanted to go. You know, like would you like to stay with them, or come to me, or go into the system…”

There was silence. Tyler didn't know his sister too well. The distance between them and their schedule made it hard to converse regularly. But he'd been there for her when she was little, helped her say her first words and take her first steps. The years of quiet between the two did nothing to how well he knew her and what her small mannerisms meant. She’d changed over the years but he still recognized them. The silence was a bad thing. She was thinking half a mile a second and wasn't saying her thoughts because she was scared that who ever she said them to wouldn't like them. She was hiding the truth.

“I mean, that's up to you to decide, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but you have a school over there and friends and I just wasn't sure if you'd prefer staying with them or moving because already so much has changed in your life and I just didn't want to be a dick and shake things up even more. I figured I’d let you chose and have some bit of control over something.”

This had been a last minute decision on his end. He remember seeing Ohm upset and was terrified of facing that again. He tried to put himself in Ohm’s shoes, then in hers, and found that if that had been him, he would have liked it if he'd gotten a say in things. If people listened to Ohm, maybe he wouldn't have gotten as hurt as he did. Maybe he can make his sister momentarily happy. 

“It's fine either way. I can't stay with these guys because of housing reasons though.” 

She was avoiding the question. Tyler wasn't sure why, or what her preference was. Was she afraid that he'd think she was a bother if she came over? Was she scared of upsetting him if she said she'd rather be in the system? He didn't know and didn't want to ask because he knew that it would only make things worse. He waited a moment before speaking again.

“Listen, I'll give you some time to get back to me with a preference of where you want to go. In three days, if you don't tell me by then, I'll make the decision myself. Fair?”

“You make it sound like we’re in some sort of Disney movie.”

“Or a book of sorts, I know, but do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, we have a deal. I'll call you.”

“Thank you-and hey! Don't do anything stupid or dangerous. Be good. I love you.”

“I love you too. I gotta go now, they're having dinner. Bye!”

Tyler said his goodbye and waited for her to hang up. He frowned to himself. She wasn't going to call and tell him. He knew it. He'd have to make the decision himself. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and moved back to the awaiting truck. The add he'd heard as he left had been replaced by some screamo music he couldn't understand. Evan was leaned as far back as his chair would allow and attempting to air drum along to it. Tyler hopped in, clearing his throat to snatch Evan’s attention. His partner lazily glanced over.

“Was I gone for too long?”

“Stop leaving me alone to boil to death in this truck. Boil to death with me.”

“Alright, I'm sorry! I won't do it again.” 

That was a lie and both Evan and Tyler knew it. However, not one said anything about it as they'd both much rather pretend it wasn't so and move on with their lives. Evan shrugged to cast the topic out of reach until another time and showed Tyler his phone.

“Well, while you were away, Brock sent me a message about a box Ohm got while visiting the widow. He needs you to come back now. Oh yeah, and apparently our computer systems are throwing a fit so we gotta do a whole lot by hand now.”

“Fuck, I don't want to file reports by hand! Alright, let's get back to the nerd HQ then, shall we?”

Evan nodded, glad to be with company again and even more happy knowing that he can flee to Luke’s side the second he walks through the Marsh’s doors. He turned off the radio, sick of the screamo music it presented and hunted down a better station.

The two bickered over why the term 'apples to oranges’ was a stupid term as you can compare any two things together thus ruining the whole point of the phrase completely. Evan said that the phrase made perfect sense as apples and oranges are nothing alike, Tyler insisted that as they were both round fruits on the warmer side of the color spectrum, they had plenty similarities to prove what Evan had said wrong. 

The two dropped the argument the moment the truck was safely parked in the Marsh’s parking garage. They were greeted by Craig and Smitty, who were in a rush to leave and find the parent plant that Craig had found out about earlier. They'd spent way too long hunting down the oddly specific machine Craig insisted they needed just to learn that he'd broken it a year and a half ago and it was now no longer available to them. If Marcel found out about the wasted time, he'd never let the two near each other for months! Tyler promised that their secret was safe with him. Evan kept quiet just to grin and inform Tyler under his breath that the first thing he was going to do once they got inside was tattle. That's exactly what he did. Evan took off the first second he had the chance to do so. Tyler walked alone to go find Ohm and Brock.

Both men appeared grateful to see him. Brock had been trying to get the computer to work and somehow only made things worse. His growing impatience was showing itself in the form of quick and loud bursts of shouts and banging his fist down on a table hard enough to bruise. Ohm had carefully made his way closer to the door and away from the angry man. He saw Tyler’s arrival as the perfect chance to give Brock a break and a solid distraction for a moment.

“Oh good, you're here. Brock and I were hoping to see just what exactly was in this box.”

Brock’s head swiveled on a dime the second he heard Ohm speak. He was indeed glad to see Tyler and couldn't have been happier to hear Ohm include him in this unboxing. If he stared at this stupid blue screen of death for a second longer, he'd stab everyone he saw with the eraser side of a pencil hard enough for it to break skin and whatever else was beneath it, be it bone, muscle, or an important organ. He didn't care. 

He popped out of his seat and ran like a hurt puppy to confirm his tagging along before Tyler could dismiss him. Tyler agreed to this silently and lead the two out of the room to find a good, quiet office to document the box in. 

It was a simple, wooden box. The kind you could by at Hobby Lobby or Michaels. Someone had painted it a dark purple, but aside from that, it was a simple and ordinary bod with a removable and unlockable lid. Said lid slid right off without any hesitation. Inside was a small key with a tag that read only 247. 

“Room number,” Ohm spoke aloud. The other two turned to Jim curiously. A look of realization slowly corrupted the doctor’s face as he snapped a couple pictures of the key. “It's a room number. Whatever she was doing, she did it either in an apartment, a hotel, or a storage unit. Can we figure out what this key goes to?”

Brock made a small noise in the back of his throat. There was little hope with the computers acting up the way they were. Tyler took the key and flipped the tag around hoping for more than just the number. There was nothing but a slight impression made by a pen, yet no ink. He took a loose sheet of paper and placed it atop The tag, taking the belly of his pencil and rubbing it gently over it. A name appeared before their very eyes. Tamerac.

“No need to run it through any software, there's only one apartment complex with the name of Tamerac. We've been before, Ohm, remember, when the vet was stabbed to death by her Nazi neighbor? She lived in those apartments.”

Ohm nodded. And while he hadn't been addressed, Brock remembered the apartment complex too as he'd had to rebuild the room the poor vet had been found in. 

“I'll go get us a warrant.” Tyler announced slowly before seeing himself out. Brock watched him go, sad because he knew he'd be forced to return to the glitching computers and fight with them again. He looked to Oh, hoping that he would have something for him to do other than this. Such was not to be as Oh moved to follow after Tyler. With a sad and heartbroken groan, Brock saw himself back to his desk, where Luke was absent from, and began to restart his computer for the umpteenth time.

Getting the warrent took longer than Tyler had expected.their usual lawyer has gone missing and they had to replace him. Said replacement was flying in from New York and wasn't expected to be there for a couple more days. They had to persuade the judge through a friend. Night had fallen long before they finally got the ok to go and search the apartment. 

Evan had since then gone home with Like and was not willing to drag himself out of bed to come back to work. Nothing Tyler could have ever said in that moment could get him to either. Tyler was both thankful tland dreaded the fact that he'd have to take Ohm instead. 

“We could always do this tomorrow,” Ohm reminded once he glanced at his watch. Late wasn't the right word. But there wasn't a word he knew that went beyond that. 

Tyler shook his head, “I want to get this over with. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something before we went home.” 

Tyler hopped into the truck, leaving Ohm in a stunned still Ness a couple feet away. Ohm hamdt been in too many relationships. Work kept him busy and he found that people were hardly tolerant of his odd habits. Despite this, he knew when a break up was about to happen and what the start of one looked like. He wondered if he would have to find a hotel to check into or if it was too late to find any open. It didn't matter too much. Wouldn't be the first time he's had to sleep in his car. He hesitantly climbed in after Tyler, who didn't dare say a word. Not because he didn't want to, or because he wanted to mess with Oh, but because he was more concerned with the case at hand at the second.

It took him several seconds of fucking with his GPS before he could get a good and quick route to the apartment complex. For whatever reason, his phone believed that Tyler wasn't at the Marsh at all but somewhere in a neighborhood not too far. He turned to Ohm once it was working right again.

“I called her today. I decided I'd let her choose where she wants to go. I said if she doesn't in three days, I’ll decide for her. I also took into consideration what you said. In three days, if she hasn't picked yet that is, I think we’ll have a little girl living with us. Is that ok?”

Relief washed over Ohm faster than it ever had before. He laughed as the building panic fled from him. Tyler stared at him in alarm. Ohm struggled to get himself under control before bidding frantically. And here he thought he'd be sleeping in his car again like a runaway. Tyler smiled. There was no need to go back to that conversation or apologize as this essentially did both. Still Ohm planned on showing his appreciation later that night, probably with his mouth. Tyler, still grinning ear to ear, started up the truck with a giggle. He's only seen Ohm so happy once and that had been when he was relentlessly tickling Tyler till they were both crying on the floor. The shit head. 

Oh was quiet for the rest of the car ride. He was looking over their generated file using only the light of the passing streetlights to help him. He hoped that they'd find what they needed here. He was too tired for more bad news and starting back at square one was not an option. He had high hopes for the approaching apartment complex. 

This one wasn't nearly as quiet as Brian’s had been. The second the two stepped through the doors they could hear the life that it held. The halls smelled thickly of sex and muffled moans and grunts pushed their way past the thin walls. They could hear a man shouting at his son, calling him a failure seven times fast before there was a heavy sobbing and an endless sea of apologies. The elevator rattled and shook in it's last few dying trips. Tyler worried that it would collapse and they'd get stuck, one of his biggest fears. He took comfort knowing that at least he wouldn't be alone. The second floor was worse than the first. However it had a stronger smell of weed than sex, and that was both nice and yet worse at the same time. 

 

Their needed apartment sat on the very end of the hall along the right. The key slid into the lock perfectly and the door swung open soundlessly. Instantly the smell of decay molested their noses. Ohm took a step back with a gag. His hand flew to his mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to keep the smell from further assaulting him but it was no use. The desire to puke had never been. 

Tyler stepped tentatively into the room and took a swift look around. There was nothing to suggest the smell. No blood, no dead animals, none in sight at least. Everything looked relatively clean, which was an easy thing to do when you have no furniture whatsoever. This only made Tyler more uncomfortable. His hand fell to his gun in anticipation and he waited patiently for Ohm to rejoin him. Together they made their way to the kitchen and peaked around the corner. There weren't any dishes in the sink. There was nothing on the counter. Cockroaches ran along the walls and floors as if there was no tomorrow, but that was as bad as it got. Ohm griminced at the sight and moved to inspect the only bedroom found besides the bathroom. The door was left wide open. A deflated air mattress lay slumped in the corner besides a mess of burned spoons and a pile of needles. Ohm frowned. $50 shouldn't be enough to buy heroine. Let alone rent an apartment room. Then he spotted a similar box to the one previously found. This one also purple, but this time with a small padlock. 

“We need to photograph this and get a team to take it all back to the lab,” Oh announced to seemingly no one. Tyler didn't respond. Oh turned to see if the other had followed, seeing that he was alone, he rushed to find the other.

Tyler had decided to check the bathroom. It was from there the smell came from. Blood bathed the floor, bathtub, and toilet. An ax sat along the sink, it's blade smeared with what appeared to be a sad attempt to clean the blood it had once been coated in. It's wooden handle had been burned. This had been where she'd been decapitated. Oh slunk around the corner before Tyler could advise against it. 

“Holy shit. Do we wait until morning or call people now?”

Tyler was silent. He took a step back and shook his head, “We call them now. We have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, life got in the way! I have news! I've been taking a forensics class to help with my credibility in this story along with joining the mock trial club. I look forward to Future chapters and updates. Along with that, I've been cast as Hamlet in a school play and a talent scout for a local college will be in the audience, so there's a chance I can win a scholarship in acting! Whoop whoop! Things have been crazy and that's no real excuse for the long wait. I'll try my best to create and stick to a better schedule. Next chapter will be posted on the 7th, I promise! Love you all!


	7. Seven

It was early. Too early. Marcel had only been awake this early when he was in college and highschool stressing for a test. He'd been careful when he got out of bed, not wanting to disturb his sleeping partner. Brock had been so stressed and sleep had been his only rest from it. He didn't want to be the ass hat who forced him back into the cycle of stress when he was at long last free. 

Still no amount of coffee in the world could force both eyes open. Jed called himself a Lyft just to ensure he got to work safely. He'd signed the tram away, they too just as tired as he was, if not more. Marcel only had to deal with the crappy computers, they had to deal with Craig and Smitty, and standing out in the hot sun looking for plants. That's all he was needed for, signing them off, but he figured he might as well get a head start in the day's work before things went to shit again. 

He was sat at a computer trying his best to understand what all was displayed before him. On any other day, he could look at the screen and the prestended information and know exactly what it meant. The lack of sleep made even recognizing the fact that this wasn't even his computer hard to fathom.   
“You need to log in first,” a kind voice informed. Marcel looked about, startled by the noise and sudden company. He smiled when he spotted Sark. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here, remember? I'm the night shift security guard. My God, how much sleep did you get?”

“Not nearly enough,” Marcel remarked instantly. He attempted to run the exhaustion out of his eyes and grumbled to himself when that only made things worse. Lazily he logged on and began hunting through his files for this case. He watched Sark as the programs struggled to load. 

He'd noticed some things about Sark when he'd first been hired. Sark had served. He didn't talk about that time, much like Tyler, and as age krept up on his muscle and mind, he proved himself to be every bit as strong as when he was serving and every bit as bright. Marcel wondered briefly if he'd be able to tackle a grown man to the ground only moments before witnessing him help move a fridge by his lonesome. He never questioned Sark’s abilities again. Of there was anyone who could serve to be a good night's watch, it was Sark, and Marcel was glad for the company. 

His thoughts returned to earth once his screen loaded and he could finally see the results of his tests. He squinted at them, hoping that the sleep deprivation wasn't messing with his head. He felt like the given information shouldn't, no, couldn't be right. Was the program having problems? There just wasn’t…

He shot up from his seat, startling Sark, and rushed to go find anyone he could tell. Luke wasn't here, not yet, he was trying to pry himself out of bed still. Evan and Tyler were back at the apartment, Ohm had gone home at Tyler’s request, Craig and Smitty we're on their way, there was one other person.

He was t on the platform like he normally was. Jonathan hated the inspection rooms. The table was too bright and the wall of bones made him feel small. He liked the open space of the platform, he felt sager, more in tuned with the set of remains given. But he wasn't there. 

He turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Jonathan held up a fractured vertebrae to the microscope and went back to his large binder of notes. No, they weren't his notes at all. The peeling tape on the side said it belonged to Smitty. They were from the case file either, they were regular college notes. Diagrams, labeled images, explanations. Things Jonathan hadn't needed in years. He took a step back from everything and Marcel heard the smallest trembling breath before the soft hiccuping cries that immediately replaced it. Jonathan quickly wiped his face dry, terrified of getting anything on the evidence, but the tears continued to cascade down despite how hard he was trying to stop them. He set the bone down and gave up on trying to hold everything back. He stood there, weeping silently to himself. 

Marcel wasn't sure if he should leave and come back another time or not. Jonathan was a strong man who was more likely to laugh hysterically before showing any sign of anger or sorrow. Seeing him as this broken mess of a man was startling. Perhaps that was what drove Marcel’s hesitant foot forward. The same way a child who catches their mother weeping knows she needs a hug, or when their father’s grumpy huff's can be cured with a bright smile. In that moment, he wasn't the big bad boss, he was a friend who was simply concerned for the other. 

He called out softly so as not to startle Jon. The doctor turned to see who had come to visit, unable to care about the fact that he was still crying. Seeing Marcel hurt more than he had anticipated it should. God only knows ows how he would have felt if Luke had found him instead. Embarrassed shame washed over him. He shook his head and gestured vaguely to the set of remains splayed out on the table. 

“I can't.” That was all he was able to say. 

He leaned against the wall and put a hand to his face, something Marcel had noticed long, long that Jon only ever did when he felt vulnerable or scared. Jonathan would hide his face at parties when he had a little too much to drink. He hid his face at his own birthday party Luke had thrown after learning that Jonathan had been too poor to have any more after he'd turned nine. He hid his face at Evan and Luke’s wedding during his own speech. 

He removed his hand and blinked the wetness out of his eyes so that he could see again. What he saw didn't help. Failure stared back at him mockingly. And now perhaps the only person who stood above him was there to see it all. This had to be some special circle of hell. 

Marcel moved to the table to see what all Jonathan was messing with. They were the remains of the current case, cleaned, set up in their proper order, the usual procedure had been done, and everything appeared to be in perfect order. Confused at where the problem was, Marcel began looking for odd things. He took up the case file notes and documented findings and began to read through them.

“What are you having problems with?”

“Everything! Every-fucking-thing! It took me three hours, fourteen minutes and seventeen seconds to set this up and then Smitty came in and corrected my many mistakes in under two minutes! I dont-I can’t- Fuck!”

Jonathan gave up on trying to explain himself and moved to just show what he was trying to say. He took the fractured vertebrae and placed it beneath the microscope. 

“This is C4, according to Smitty's textbook. This was where the head was removed from the body. That's what Smitty had documented, he got confirmation from three others in our department just to be sure. I'm still stumped on how to tell the C4 apart from the fucking C2 or hell, even the C7!”

He put down the bone and grabbed Smitty’s notes. He shoved them into Marcle’s face and pointed vigorously at the labeled diagrams. He stumbled over his words in frustration before finally managing out a broken, “I have read this time and time again and I still don't know what any of it means!” 

He put the book back and forced himself to stop his hyperventilating. Marcel was beyond alarmed at the given display. He'd seen this behavior in people before. Friends who'd come to confirm the identity of a set of remains often acted out in similar ways. But Jonathan hadn't just lost his best friend, or his sister, or his lover. He'd only lost his mind. Marcel made a move to try and comfort his insane friend and stopped before he could so much as raise an arm away from his side. Jonathan stared dumbly at the remains and the taken notes.

“I used to be so good at this. This was my life,” he said softly, his voice no louder than that of a whisper, “I could tell you the age, sex, race, and height of a person from one look. There weren't any others out there that could do what I could do. Now I can't even tell the difference between the tibia and fibula or where the fuck in the body to find those.” 

Jonathan was right. He'd been pursued by countless other well paying investigative agencies for his unique ability and skill. He'd turned them all down even when the pay was tripled because he’d decided that this place was home. He had books written about him, dedicated to him, for him. He had given lectures to colleges around the world. Any case he'd been given he could identify them and what injuries they'd sustained throughout their life. It was his way of giving back. Poetic, Marcel had thought, weird, but poetic.

This was Jonathan’s life’s work. He'd dedicated himself to it so much that he often hurt himself just to see what kind of marking it made when he was just starting out, before he had Craig to help him with experiments that cost the Marsh more than what they were worth. Even when too drunk to stand he could tell you what kind of injury could leave a comminuted fracture to the femur. This? This was sad, pathetic, and very uncharacteristic. It almost physically hurt to watch.

Marcel ditched the remains. This was bigger than her now. He moved to stand besides Jon and smiled gently. It was rare that he had to offer emotional support for any of his friends and employees. Often they ran to Brock or to Ohm who were far better at giving advice than he could ever hope to be. Marcel knew that he was beyond unqualified for this, but also knew that he'd know Jonathan the longest in this particular field of science. He'd been with Jonathan since the very beginning of their careers. He'd watched Jonathan grow into the astounding man he used to be. He knew what all Jon was capable of. 

“Do you think you could relearn it all?”

“I'd never get back to where I was. I'm failing even highschool anatomy. At this point I might as well tell you that the hip bone’s connected to the leg bone.” Jonathan did a small, self mocking dance to emphasize his point. 

That was it. He'd completely lost his mind. Poor Jonathan had fallen beyond the saving point. Marcel wondered briefly where the tipping point had been and how long Jon had been teetering for. He found that he pitied the man more than anything else. He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to do, and hated himself for it. But what else was he supposed to do? 

“Maybe it was too soon for you to start working again.”

The look Jonathan gave him sent Marcel to hell where even Satan looked at him in terror and disgust. He wished he hadn't said it at all but felt it was true. Jonathan used work as an escape but at the same time a head injury was no joke and he needed rest. Jonathan looked away, defeated because he knew too well that Marcel was right. Marcel was always right. 

“Maybe.”

Marcel hated that Jonathan agreed so fast. He wanted Jon to argue, get to his feet, take that stupid vertebrae and prove him wrong. But Jon remained where he was. The silence between them said everything neither of them dared to. 

Marcel glanced at the clock. It was barely three thirty. The weight of the past conversation held itself heavy in Jonathan's haggard breathing. Suddenly, being a friend and being the boss collided in a violent war resulting in a spontaneous boost of confidence that Marcel didn't know he had in him.

“Alright, so, it's early as hell, you've been at this for...since yesterday...you need a break.”

“I don't want a break,” Jonathan mumbled under his breath. 

He chucked his gloves in the trash to fetch a tissue. His eyes had stopped leaking but now his nose was a faucet. He emptied it and glanced back at the table. He felt like he'd failed her. He failed everyone. And just as they'd stopped, the water works returned all over again.

Marcel remained firm with his decision. He didn't want to force Jonathan to go home, but the doctor needed sleep, a hug, and some time to get his shit together before coming back to work. But he knew that Jonathan was stubborn and thick headed. No amount of begging or demanding could get him to do anything he didn't want. It was a pain to work around.

“Lets go get some coffee, ok? I finally replaced the coffee machine Craig stole. There shouldn't be any bits of bugs in our grain anymore,” he pleaded.

Coffee sounded amazing. So did something sweet. God, if Luke was awake… Jonathan gave a broken hearted sigh and moved to follow Marcel who waited patiently for the other to be besides him. They walked slowly down the hall. Sark glanced over and gave Marcel a questioning look. Marcel shrugged and gently urged Jonathan along. Later, he'd send Ohm a lengthy letter and get someone else to deal with this mess. 

Jonathan tossed a glimpse over his shoulder back at the table that still held the bones of this poor woman, seemingly forgotten. A chill ran down his spine, weaving it's greasy fingers between his shirt and his skin. In the moment, everyone feels invincible, like nothing can touch them. No one really thinks they can break. Realizing only after already in pieces just how fragile one really is was a violent awakening. 

“What am I going to do?”

“Hmm?”

“I'm useless here. I have no other skill set. This was...this place was...I know nothing else. And I'm nothing to it now. What do I do?”

“You’re going to stay right here, with me and everyone else, in the Marsh, giving people back their names.”

“How, Marcel. Fucking how? Unless the bitch suddenly comes alive again and straight up just tells us everything then there's nothing I could do.”

“Don't talk like that.” 

Marcel was starting to panic. The conversation was straying into waters Marcel didn't exactly know how to swim in. He could only stroke a man’s broken ego so far before only making things worse. He wanted off this ride but couldn't ditch Jonathan. 

“This is just a bump in the road,” he tried, “You’ll get past this moment in your life and you'll laugh when you look back at it. Like you always do. Because you’re just not the type of guy to give up.”

“Sometimes giving up is the only option someone has left,” Jonathan grumbled back a little too quickly.

Marcel stopped to let the words process properly before casting a worried look to the other. Every exhausted voice in his head was screaming that he abort mission and call some hotline of sorts. God forbid that this lead to Jonathan being the one on that stupid fucking inspection table to be dissected like some worthless science project. No. He stared at Jonathan in disbelief as the swarm of terrified through clouded his judgement. No. Maybe he heard him wrong? No. Maybe he misinterpreted him? No. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation irritating his paranoia? No!

Worry turned to a river of rage. He caught Jonathan by his upper arm and spun him about. He held his gaze steadfast. He needed Jonathan to listen, just once, in this moment. Listen and understand.

“The universe we’re in is infinite and ever growing. There are millions of other planets, thousands of galaxies, hundreds of satellites. There's only one you. And you're only here for a limited amount of time. There was a one in a six millionth chance that you'd exist due to another one in six millionth chance and so on and so on. Do you have any idea how incredible that is? How lucky that is? All of those odds had been stacked against you and yet here you are. You're an anomaly swimming in all of this. Run with it. See the sky and it's vastness because you only get one shot at this. Don't worry so much about the in between, only about yourself and this existence and admire the wonders presented to you because these moments are fleeting and precious. And don't you ever forget that ever again!”

Somewhere in the middle of this, Jonathan had crumbled. Again. His hands flew to his face and he tried his best to hide. Marcel watched him fall apart and quickly pulled him I to a tight hug and held him there. Neither wanted to let go as both were terrified that if they did, they'd somehow be alone. Trembling in the other’s arms they allowed the seconds to stop ticking. 

Marvel waited for Jonathan to make the first attempts to break away. The very second he did, Marcel peeled himself away and gave a powerful grin, “Coffee. We need coffee. And music. And maybe something sweet to eat. And then we’re going back into that fucking room and we’re going to figure out who killed that poor woman. Deal?”

“Shouldn't we find how she died first?”

“I already did that. She died because she was doped up on heroin and then drank beyond her limits. The combination of the two killed her before she lost her head. The rate in which her stomach was decomposing, she'd died at around June 17th at 2:17 am.”

“So then, this isn't a murder?”

“Inconclusive evidence to exactly say just yet, but I'm betting she was just stupid. However, death was coming to her regardless, and we need to find who it was after her. Think we can do that?”

Jonathan was still for a second. He smiled and nodded. He yawned, exhaustion finally catching up on him at last. Sounded like a plan. A good, solid plan. Marcel pat Jon on the back and lead him over to the break room. 

“While I didn't find anything, Smitty did. I probably should have told you back in the inspection room. Sorry.”

“Don't be. What all did he find?”

Marcel took their new coffee pot and began hunting down the bag of grain they still had. With some luck, it would be safe and sound with no stray creepy crawlies in sight! Jonathan took a seat at the cheap, plastic folding table Luke had brought in after their old wooden one caught fire. Already there were small pencil scribbles scrawled across the annoying grey surface. Ben sucks. Jody ate a spider. Seth farted and it smelled so bad that it killed Aisha. Rip Aisha. I'm not dead. Small notes like that. 

“Greenstick fracture along the right clavicle. Several other little fractures along the ribs. Stress fractures along her phalanges, the hand ones not the feet.”

“Hold on, go back. What's a greenstick fracture again?”

“Uh…” Jonathan felt his brain struggle to force up the distinctions between them all. The vast supply of knowledge it once had refused to let, and he was forced back to Smitty’s poorly kept notes. “Its when the bone bends. They're most commonly seen in children, whose bones are more flexible. Smitty suspected that they were evidence of a fight, one that she instigated as all of the reported minor fractures weren't in her self defense. And if she was fighting in self defense, there wouldn't be any stress fractures along her hands. She beat the shit out of somebody.”

Marcel shuddered at the thought. Who goes to get beyond high and then starts fights? No wonder she was killed. Moreover, how the fuck did she keep this hidden from her wife and coworkers? That was just plain impressive. Ah well, not his job to find out. 

“She was punched back though?”

“Repeatedly,” Jonathan continued, “And with the amount of force she had behind these fractures, she either hit someone with inhuman strength or beat the ever loving shit out of them. Hard surface, pointed, not smooth...whoever she beat up, she had to have left some heavy duty bruising, maybe fractures of their own.” 

“Do you think whoever she hit could have been mad enough to kill her?”

Jonathan shrugged. That wasn't his area of expertise. As much as he refused to admit that psychology was a science, as it clearly was not, most murders were the result of some crazy social shit that only appeared in human behavior. Still not a science. 

“I think that if you look for someone with many large bruises, you'll find a suspect, a lead. Think young blood can handle it?”

Marcel grew immediately irritated just by hearing the name. He half expected to hear the two dumb asses giggling like love sick middle schoolers. There's be a mess somewhere that he hadn't found yet and they'd attempt to clean only to start fighting again. 

“Tyler called me not too long ago. They were at Minx’s secret apartment. He's going on a little field trip. Again. I need more interns.”

“Even hates them.”

“Yeah, but I'm the boss and technically, Evan doesn't even work here. He can deal with it. We need more hands around here.”

Jonathan nodded. The coffee sputtered into two cups. Marcel handed a mug over to the other and they stood in a much needed silence and enjoyed their warm cup of caffeine. In no time, both felt more energized than that fucking pink rabbit in the commercial for the batteries. And all at once Marcel remembered all of the work he needed to get done. Not so much here, but back home for the sleeping man still utterly unaware of what lay down the road for them. Marcel grew giddy thinking about seeing that ring snuggly wrapped around Brock’s finger where it belonged. 

Marcel rushed off to see if the team had anything for him yet. He passed Sark, who was going about and checking every available door to make sure it was locked. He waved with a smile and was happy to get one back. 

Sark watched Marcel go with a shake of his head. It amazed him how people who work with dead guys all day could be so happy. It sounded like a pretty grim and gritty job to him. He was happy making sure this old building was secure along with the people and things it protected. Speaking of which…

He shuffled into the break room Jonathan was still occupying, announcing his arrival with a soft yet firm hello. Jonathan waved hastily. He didn't know the security guard too well. From what he got, Sark was a friendly man, a father. He liked to tell jokes and had been nothing but help. He was family, new and not entirely know, but still family. This was the only reason that Jon allowed the security guard to shatter the stillness. Sark took a quick glance around the room. His eyes lingered along the upper corners as if he was searching for something and was unable to find it. Jonathan turned to face him just in time to see the security guard staring aimlessly at the ceiling. And everyone thought he was the word one. After a minute, it just got...weird.

“You ok there?”

“Yeah, I found an escaped roach of Craig’s earlier and was just making sure more hadn't gotten out. You see any?”

“No, I don't think so,” Jonathan mumbled, also stealing a swift look around the room. That news was troublesome. They had at least two other sets of remains that he needed to inspect and insects can and often did screw things up. Even if one was just out and about in the break room, Jonathan had learned the hard way that for every one he saw, there were hundreds more out of sight.

Sark shrugged, “Maybe it was just the one. Have you been here all day or did you come in because Marcel called you in?”

“I haven't gone home yet.”

Sark smiled. He stood rigid in the doorway, carefully trying to listen to both the drop dead tired scientist and the rest of the world around him. It was his job to be painfully observant. Letting his guard down wasn't an option. Ok, so he wasn't guarding some treasure, however he'd gotten word that the place was having trouble with it's tech recently and he, himself, had noticed some off going ons. It felt like there's been an intruder and he was desperate to find any tracks just to either prove or disprove of there being one. And God save the soul if they were here and still around. 

“You have a way to get home?”

“I'm good to drive.”

“I had a friend who said that. She died in a car accident that same night.” And just like that, the newly called mood Jonathan had found himself in was gone. He felt small all over again. He didn't like the way Sark looked so sad. “I can get you an Uber if you'd like.”

“Thanks, Sark, but I'm ok. My car’s here and if I leave without it there's a chance I'll forget it's here and report it missing again.”

Sark let it drop. He figured there was no point in pressing things further. Jonathan stole a look at the clock and groaned at the time. He did need to get home. He got to his feet. For the first time in hours he felt how they ached. Everything ached. Marcel was right. It was time to go home. 

Sark sensed this want and moved to the side to allow Jonathan out. The two began walking over to the doors closest to the parking garage. Sadk had locked those up hours ago and needed to let Jonathan out and lock back up again. 

As sleep was pushed farther away from his grasp no thanks to the coffee, everything he'd ignored returned to him. He suddenly remembered that the computers were being annoying and that Tyler and Ohm had found something they shouldn’t have and the two bodies he was so eager to start looking at.

“Hey, do you think we have a serial killer case?”

The question surprised Sark. Most others wanted to ask him if anyone ever tried to break in and who and what he would do if someone ever tried. They would then start trying to come up with hypotheticals to test his smarts. This was strange and new. 

“With the woman?”

“No. The dentist and the other… Evan mentioned how our lawyer is missing. He matches the description of the past two victims from toe to tip. I do too. So does Brock. And Ohm. And if you grew your hair out, you would too. Fuck, at certain angles, Luke fits that description too and I don't know. I'm probably just paranoid. What do you think?”

Sark sighed heavily. That had been bothering him too, for similar and yet completely different reasons. The current victims appears to be average white men in their late twenties to mid thirties. That was a fairly large group of people on the list of who could get hurt next. 

“I think that you shouldn't have anything to worry about. I doubt whoever's killing people would go after anyone here. I mean, look at where you work. This place is riddled with cameras. Look at who you work with. Who wants to anger the FBI? And look at what it is you work with. Who in their right mind would challenge people fully capable of solving murders that happened years ago. You won't ever be on that table, divided up by some system to be analyzed. You will just be the one who catches this fucker.”

He'd spoken every word with power and confidence and at the same time didn't believe a single word he'd said. But he didn't have to. Just as long as Jonathan believed him. And judging by the face that he got, he did. Jonathan smiled softly.

“You're right. But it is a serial killer then?”

“I think so.”

Jonathan was quiet for a moment. He perked up with a pleased look and finished putting things away. He snatched up the case file, needing to return that to the platform.

“Alright. Let's put this bitch to rest and get back to finding this crazy bastard! But first, a nap.”

“That's the spirit!” Sark followed Jonathan out, turning off the lights. 

As the shadows ran like an angry wildfire to eat every last inch of where the luminescent beams had once been, the gaping jaws of death clamped shut miles away and none were the wiser. They wouldn't be for far too long. A scream tore past flesh and bone and blood but would never be heard past the layers of cement, stone, and Earth separating them from help. How terrifying it is to know that a life had been lost beneath their own noses. A third. A friend. Slowly had death come for him. They would never again see their lawyer. Alive, that is. But the birthed hope told Jonathan that the poor man was alive and well, probably just sick or going through a midlife crisis elsewhere. With the last of the light, the soul fled too, and the emptiness welcomed the darkness with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the 14th!


	8. Eight

Evan looked perhaps the most stressed out of all of the team assembled. All of a sudden, running away to Grease with Luke sounded like a sweet summer's dream that called to him now louder than it ever had before. He was sick and tired of getting called out of bed, or from a relaxing bath, or during intimate moments to deal with blood, gore, and corpses. For years now he'd tolerated the disruptions and for years he'd been alright with it. But now it was irritating him beyond words.

He stared at the bloodbath, the literal bathtub filled with dried remains of blood, and gave an exasperated sigh. He'd chased Smitty out of the bathroom twice now. The intern wasn't doing anything wrong, he was entirely up to code and was following procedure better than the experienced team assembled, but the kid was in the way and that alone was enough to frustrate Evan. He felt bad when Smitty trotted off with fear in his eyes. He was trying to help, and he'd been doing a good job, poor, tired kid.

Evan had already collected the used needles. Craig would later be able to confirm the drugs found, however he was fairly certain it was heroine. He pouted, he never took the victim to be a user. When they'd first discovered the body, they hadn't found any bruising or sores that usually came with the use of heroin. There should have been ample evidence of her using. The wife should have noticed something too. Then again the lady didn't even know about the secret apartment that Minx shouldn't have been able to afford in the first place. And that, too, was suddenly explained with the box Ohm and Tyler had found in the room.

Evan had never seen so much money before in his life. The stacks of cash shouldn't have been able to fit inside the box in the first place and not all of it did. They found more hidden inside the vents, wrapped seven times over in seran wrap. There was enough to fill three duffle bags. He had a team member still struggling to reach the last of it. And it was this that baffled him. Why kill her and leave the money? Oh.

He ran from the room with a sudden boost of energy. He scanned the room of investigators for the only one who mattered to him at the moment. Was that mean of him? Maybe. He didn't care. It was too early to care. Considering how freakishly tall and built Tyler was, Evan was baffled by how fucking hard it was to spot him amongst the people he made look like munchkins. 

Tyler had excused himself out into the hallway. It had grown too crowded inside the apartment and he needed some air. He leaned against the rotting wall and groaned at the sounds that surrounded him. The mumbling back and forth between the team wasn't loud enough to muffle the undying moans still pushing past blankets and sheets. No one's that good in bed, he thought with every shouted yes that bounced around with little to no end. 

Smitty had joined him not long ago with a camera in hand and frown on his face. He flipped through what all he'd managed to get on that memory card. The scene was gruesome but he'd seen worse. Tyler felt bad for the kid. He and Craig had been beneath the unrelenting sun’s heat all day collecting plants they probably wouldn't need. He had dark bags dangling under his eyes and yawned every other second to the point of tears running down his cheeks. He wasn't used to this kind of work schedule, if you could call it that. He was exhausted and trying so hard to help without making mistakes. On top of that, he’d have to go back to the Marsh to finish whatever Jonny had been working on. What really sucked was knowing that he wasn't getting paid nearly enough for the work they had him doing. But such was the way of life. 

Evan poked his head out the door. He rushed to snatch Tyler’s attention and pull him to the side to avoid any possibilities of strangers eavesdropping. 

“I doubt she was a regular user,” he started quickly, “in fact, I think she was the dealer.”

Tyler frowned and glanced back into the room. With the amount of money they'd found, it sounded plausible. But why take her head off? Was she holding out on a customer? This suddenly made the suspect list quadruple in size and they had no idea where to start or if they could. Who all could she have sold heroin to and which of them had a temper? 

“Alright, so we go on a wild goose chase for some druggies. Fun.” Irritating was perhaps a better word and yet, hardly strong enough to fully express how unhappy he was. Evan shook his head vigorously.

“Marcel called. He said she died to substance abuse but before she did, she got into a fight with someone and got them good. Find who she beat the shit out of and we find our first suspect. With luck, they’ll lead to others.”

“So… a wild goose chase.”

Evan was quiet for a moment before giving up and agreeing. The chances of them finding this person where slim to none. But there was still a chance and that's what mattered. There was a chance that they could put some sick fucking murderous bastard behind bars to rot. That could clear the streets of one more threat. And that was enough to keep them going. All they needed was a chance. 

Tyler grumbled to himself. He hated it when they had no where to start. Still, what was he to do? He could go looking for people all bruised and beat up. That shouldn't be too hard. If they worked for her then that would be real nice. Everyone in that God awful hell joke of fuzzy memories was wearing far too little. It would have been impossible to hide any bruises. He could start there.

“Alright. So back to lipstick we go-”

“No, back to lipstick you go. I have to stay here and help with this.”

“Who the fuck am I supposed to go with? Ohm hasn't been trained to look for injuries like you!”

Evan was at a loss for words. He ran like wild through his mind of who all Tyler could take instead. Craig was at home and no help. Jonathan needed this break. Marcel was useless in this area. He glanced around frantically. With luck one of the team members could-

“Smitty,” he answered before his brain could so much as finish that thought. 

Tyler blinked in response. There's no way Evan just told him to take the intern. Evan hated interns. He thought that their work was flawed and lead to many mistakes that could compromise and risk everything. Too many guilty people got away because of the faults of careless interns. Yet Evan’s face was that of stone. He was holding steadfast with his decision and no amount of reminders could sway him from his position, this much Tyler had learned simply through experience of working with the man. He glanced wearily towards the tired intern.

“Smitty?” He asked just to be sure. 

“Listen, you're options are very limited. This is going to take me hours. After I'm done here, I'll have to get back to the Marsh to do some analyzing and blah blah science blah. I won't be able to tag along until around six pm if I'm lucky! And just as you said, Oh instead qualified in this field. Jonathan's delirious, out of his goddamn mind right now, and while still just an intern, Smitty has proven to be quite the asset to this team. Besides, he’s learning to be like me. Teach him. One day he’ll be another agent’s partner, so get him ready and make that other agent’s life a little bit easier. Take Smitty.”

Evan sounded as if he was trying hard to convince himself more so than Tyler. What ever. It worked regardless. The kid looked too exhausted to care about holding up a conversation and was terrified of losing this opportunity to dare make any mistakes. Given his choices, he figured it wouldn't hurt to get the little twerp to tag along. 

“Alright. But if he's the reason we end up being unable to solve this case, I'm blaming you.”

“But you just said it would be his fault-”

“Yep, but now it's yours. Fair?”

Hardly, but Evan agreed nonetheless. He turned on his heel to get back into the spewed about disaster. Tyler glanced at his watch. The place should still be open. They probably stopped serving alcohol by now and some 18-20 year olds would be there. Whatever. He turned to the intern and cleared his throat, catching the other off guard with a jump.

“Go give that camera to someone. We’re going on a field trip.”

Another one? Smitty wanted to run the sleep from his eyes and simply say no, however Tyler was roughly sixty feet taller than he was and could probably wrestle an elephant into submission while blindfolded and missing both his arms. Saying no was like telling a giant that he couldn't step on you even if he tried! He moved quickly to obey. 

Tyler felt as of this was some sort of . He'd fucked with a force that none of them could see and now it was angry. But not angry enough to smite him down, no, just angry enough to burden him with babysitting duty. He waited impatiently for Smitty to rejoin him back out in the hall. He lead the punk over to his truck and watched him struggle for a solid minute or so trying to climb inside. He forgot how huge it was to the average person. Evan and Ohm were used to its size.   
“Where are we going?”

Tyler's first instinct was to respond simply with “crazy” like how his dad used to. His dad never answered questions like that. What's for dinner? Food. Tyler hated it. He hated the frustration he'd get and the pure joy his dad got. He hadn't thought about his dad and his little antics in so long. He wondered if he'd said something along those lines the day he died. Did Sophie ask when they'd be back just for him to say “around soon”? Was that the last thing he'd said to her? Did she believe him? He never lied. His answers, while shot, were always the truth. Had that been the only like he'd ever told? The irritation he'd built up knowing he'd have to drag Smitty along with him vanished to be replaced by an old sorrow he hadn't felt in a while.

“Lipstick.”

“We're going to get make up? Is it for some tests?”

“No, you ass! The strip club.”

Smitty’s eyebrows shot up like little prairie dogs checking to see if the coast was clear. He'd never been to a strip club before. His mom had told him that strip clubs bread nothing but sinful thoughts he'd best avoid until he was old enough to buy his own drinks and make his own drunken mistakes. That was still roughly two years away. Besides, what could they possibly need in a strip club?

“Is...is this professional?”

Tyler glanced at the intern with the side of his eye. He chose not to answer the stupid question. He blamed how early it was. The reminder of the time stared him down in the neon green numbers on his dashboard. A yawn escaped him throat. He doubted any coffee shops we're open at this hour. Any nearby. There was a large chance there wouldn't be any until five am. That was troubling. He glanced again at Smitty upon stopping at a red light and wasn't surprised to find his companion had nodded off to sleep. He wondered briefly how long ago he's done this. Alright, so coffee was out of the question, but there was sure as shit other options. He found the first open seven eleven and pulled up. He left the car run info with Smitty inside. There was no need to wake him yet. He quickly bought a couple of monsters and figured this would have to suffice for now. He hoped Smitty wouldn't be a sticker for flavor. Or brand for that matter. He hopped back in his truck, slamming the door harder than he had intended. Smitty sat up with a start and looked about in a panic. He didn't recognize anything around him aside from the shadow cast face no less than a foot to his left. 

Tyler offered up the monster, breaking the silence with a loud demand of, “Drink up! I need you awake for this.” 

Smitty took the beverage unable to care for what it was at the second. It was cafine and that was good enough for him. Oddly enough, his parents never let him have any cagine as a child. Or sugar for that matter. He was already far too hyper. Then one day, while his mother was shopping for the week’s groceries, his dad had snuck and gave him a giant pixie stick. Smitty remembered his father’s daughter and his mother’s distressed cries if “What did you do?” While he ran about the house half naked making as many animal sounds as he could at the same time. He didn't sleep that night. The effect of sugar has since then work down over the years as he was slowly exposed to more of it. Still, the monster brought him back to that memory as the caffeine worked its way into his system. His hands started to tremble and he suddenly had no need to close his eyes. Like ever. That did the trick. 

For Tyler, on the other hand, the monster want nearly enough. He felt more groggy than before. He steadied his tired mined just enough to focus on the road ahead and keeping himself and his young passenger both alive. This was going to suck! He hoped that once this was over, he'd be allowed to go home and get an hour's rest at least before having to come back. But if things went well, there'd be a chance that he'd get stuck hopping from place to place. He wouldn't be allowed a break till noon. That promotion sounded real tasty then. He could almost see it. Him, not working near 24 hour shifts, sleeping in for once in his life, cuddling the one he loves oh so dearly. His little sister would interrupt them with the demand for breakfast. No more corpses, no more murderers. Peace at last. 

He parked not too far from the strip club. He didn't need to startle people away. There was a possibility that Minx mixed businesses. Wouldn't be too big of a surprise if she dealt drugs to the creeps that crowded around the stage haphazardly throwing dollar bills at the half clad dancer. 

Once again for the second time in his working day, he was greeted by pulsating music and violently flashing lights. There were more people assembled in the bar now. There was more noise and much more life. Doxy could be spotted behind the counter feverishly trying to hand out drinking out to the needy patrons. Sinow could be seen through the small window in the doors leading to the employee only section of the building collapsed on a couch. Ritz was talking to him and moved out of sight within mere moments. 

Tyler made his way towards the bar. Smitty remained hot on his heels terrified of getting lost. This club thing was new to him and every bit of it was overwhelming. He wished the music wasn't so loud, or that the lights would pick a color and a spot and stay. He wished people would stop rubbing up against him. But Tyler was far faster than he was and Smitty found himself lost in the crowd. A man several years older eyed him from the chaos of it all. Smitty felt small and lost amongst the moving bodies that surrounded him. What was he supposed to do?

Tyler didn't notice Smitty’s absence at first. He instead noticed the large bruise that occasionally peaked from Doxy’s upper sleeve. It looked as though she'd tried to hide it with some makeup. But the heat of the club and the humidity combined with the constant rubbing of her shirt against her skin made the makeup entirely useless. Tyler waited for the last if the need drunks to get their drinks before stepping up to the bar and snatching back her attention. He wasn't surprised to find that the reason he got was one of mild annoyance. Things were tough now that their boss was gone. The poor lady had a lot stacked on her plate and didn't have time for the cops. Not while working anyways. Still, she gave him a nod and moved once again to a quiet place to talk, much to Tyler’s appreciation. 

The two passed a now sleeping Since and a stressed Ritz as they woge their way back to the break room.

“Busy night?”

“A bus full of asshats showed up and they all think I owe them something apparently. I just can't catch a break today,” she sighed, holding the door open long enough for Tyler to slip on inside and shutting it softly behind her. “What can I help you with?”

“I just came to ask a couple more questions. Didn't mean to interrupt a busy night.” 

Doxy shrugged it off. Tyler almost hated how cooperative she was. She took a seat, ready and prepared for the questions not yet asked. Tyler felt apprehensive. The only time people were this willing to help was when they were trying to prove their falsified innocence. Not a good sign. 

“What happened to your shoulder?” He kept his tone light and playful almost. 

Doxy looked as if she'd forgotten all about the bruise mentioned. She looked down a tad bit surprised. She sighed quickly and looked back at the investigator seated with her.

“I got into a bit of a fight.”

Tyler cocked an eyebrow. Doxy looked anxious. Tyler knew that if it wasn't related to the case then it wasn't important. He didn't need to know what this woman did in her spare time. If she sold herself on the streets then good for her, he didn't care. He only cared about who ever it was that killed Minx. That said, the given answer didn't sit well inside his head, despite this, he moved past it. The girl fights. Nice.

“Can you recall Minx ever having a drug problem?”

“Did you find traces of it? That could have come from a customer. She confiscates things like that alot. People bring in all kinds of shit around here. We find needles in the toilets regularly. It's unsanitary and Minx hated it.”

There were half a dozen things rambling was supposed to mean. Ohm had taken the time to explain all of those meanings in great detail and what to look for in order to identify them. Little facial twitches, changes in pitch, speed, all that. Tyler felt lost. He knew that she was hiding something. Something big. Was she a user? She had to have known Minx was. Why would she lie about that though?

“But as far as you know, she never did any drugs. No cocaine, or ecstasy, or heroin or anything like that?”

“Not that I know of.”

Interesting. She answered a little too quickly for Tyler’s liking. Maybe it was just how she talked. People often threw him off simply because of their natural speaking habits. 

“Do you think Minx could have angered someone she confiscated drugs from?”

“I mean, that's very possible. We run into a lot of crazies like that though. It would be impossible to give you any sort of list.”

Tyler expected as much. He hated working drug related cases. They rarely ever got solved. He turned to give Smitty an annoyed and hopeless look when he realized that his companion was nowhere in sight. Tyler froze. He came into the room didn't he? Wasn't he right behind Tyler? Where the fuck? He got up from his chair as mild panic began to settle in. Doxy watched him with a strange tangle of anxiety knotted in her eyebrows. He saw himself out of the room and back into the chaos of the main area. 

Tyler was a seasoned vet. He'd been in the heat of battle for years. He'd been trained to adapt to every situation he found himself in. He never would have been able to acquire this job without that training. Still, despite that experience under his belt, he found it beyond impossible to spot the kid amongst the moshing bodies. He turned to Doxy, more worried than anything else, an emotion that when displayed on his face mimicked annoyance, startling the poor woman further. 

“Do you guys have cameras?”

Isn't that embarrassing? He felt like a mom at a shopping marte calling her kid at the front desk. He could almost picture Smitty in some ill fitting overalls aimlessly wandering about, scared out of his mind, too short to see if the giant man was around the corner or not. 

Doxy went pale. She noiselessly lead Tyler once more into the back. There sat a small room with several monitors set up. Tyler had mission on the parking lot outside, the front door where the bouncer stood, the stage, the bar, and the main lounge. The time stamps hung in blocky letters at the bottom right corner of the screen. Tyler moved to look through each. Doxy rung her hands by the door. Tyler cursed to himself still being unable to spot the intern.

“Is there a way I can watch earlier footage?”

“Yeah,” Zero answered, stepping forward to show him how to pause, rewind, and play. Tyler mumbled a quick thank you and moved to go back a couple minutes Utes just to see when they arrived. With luck, he'd be able to find when he lost Smitty and then follow him. Much to his surprise, the rewind button made things go back faster than he'd anticipated. In seconds hours had been undone and in no time at all days. Tyler made a distressed move to stop what he'd done. The time resumed as normal, now almost a week ago. He frowned. He hated this old technology more than he could say. He moved to fast forward when he caught something. 

Doxy went frigid. Tyler leaned closer to the screen just to make sure he was seeing things right. He turned back to face the new manager.

“Did you fight Minx?”

She didn't know what to say. There was. O point in denying it, the proof was right in front of him. She didn't want to run, that was pointless and only made her look bad. Hell, this made her look bad. She sighed.

“I didn't mention it because I didn't think it mattered. It happened before she was killed and it got handled.”

“What happened?”

“It's not nice to talk badly about the dead.”

Tyler shot her a look and she crumbled a bit. She revealed the full extent of the bruise on her shoulder and wiped off makeup covering a similar one on her cheek.

“Minx would get mad. I thought it was stress. She deals with ass hats all day and they liked to test her. She needed to release that stress. Krisim had been out of town visiting with her parents. Minx needed some action I guess and she came to me to get it. But I turned her down. We started verbally fighting and that escalated. She hit me first and I defended myself. A witness had to pull her off of me. We didn't go to court. I didn't press charges. But we had a chat, her, Sinow, Ritz, Krism, and I. It was settled in an adult manner.” 

Tyler nodded. He could very easily believe that. The video he watched showed some stranger rushing forward to wrestle Minx off and away while Doxy got help from Ritz. 

“Did she normally get violent like that?”

“No. That was a surprise. She didn't do it again either. To me at least. Who knows who she could have pissed off though.”

Tyler looked back at the tape and frowned. The resolution wasn't good enough for him to tell if she was tweaking. He'd ask Marcel how long she’d had drugs in her system once he dropped Smitty off back at the nerd headquarters later. He resumed playing and attempted to fast forward a bit. He watched busy days go by. There was little else out of the ordinary. He could collect and review this footage later with court consent. He was still hyper focused on finding the child of a man Jed somehow managed to lose. 

To say Smitty felt uncomfortable would be too light of a word. He wanted to go home. It was way too early for him to be around so many people and he wasn’t ok with how many appeared to want too much of his attention. He desperately began his search for Tyler not even two seconds after losing him. This only made things worse. Overwhelmed by the heat, the noise, and the people, he gave up and fled out the back doors out into the cold morning air. He was alone with only the trash bins to keep him company. Plastic bags stacked atop each other bulged and ached from how much they'd been stuffed with. Some had been torn open probably from the homeless looking for something salvageable. If this was what all clubs were like then count him out of it! He was happy to be alone in the alley. The man who's long ago spotted him in the jiving crowd had attempted to follow after him. He was stopped at the door, unable to go further without giving himself away. Disappointed, he slunk back into the shadows and dedicated himself into taking the long rout. He was stopped yet again when an equally as stressed and disappointed Tyler emerged from the crowd and got to Smitty first.

“There you are! I got literally nothing useful here and I doubt I will anytime soon so we can leave now. We’ll see if Marcel can give us an estimation on how long she's been an addict. Common, I want to go home before the sun rises!” He ushered Smitty back to the truck. 

The man watched them go. It was irritating how easily his targets continued to slip from his grasp. No matter. It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped. Then they could join the lawyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter comes out the 21st, and then with luck, I can keep my Wednesday schedualing lol


	9. Nine

He’d tossed and turned all night. His blankets were too warm but his apartment was too cold. And while he knew it was a childish belief, he refused to let his arm dange off the bed should the scaly claws of death would reach up and latch on. He'd get pulled from the mild comfort of his mattress and vanish beneath his bed into the hungry jaws of a demon. The only thing left of him would be the memories that fade over time amongst his friends. He was a grown ass man, but not grown enough to think he could take on a demon. He'd tried that once. Didn't end well. 

He couldn't remember a time in which he felt this way this was new and he didn't like it. He liked a lot of new things. That intern? Loved him. Smitty was good at his job, made few mistakes, and was good company to keep. Their new coffee machine? Loved it. It lacked the ground up bugs the other liked to spit out. The new neighbors? Loved em! The little girl asked so many strange question and her elder brother got so embarrassed. They spoke in mixed sentences of English and Spanish. It was a joy to try and uncode what all they'd said. He'd picked up some Spanish words along the way. Mostly curse words. He liked new things. Even when they sucked. He’d tried skydiving with Luke once when they were younger. They landed on a power line and had to be saved. He got electrocuted. That sucked. He had so much fun. He didn't like the feeling of getting zapped, nor did he like the hospital bill that followed, but he liked how he could tell that story and get so many concerned and amazed faces. This? This sucked! He didn't like anything about it. 

He sat up with a different. He was really starting to regret that coffee now. In need of keeping his hands busy, Jonathan climbed out of bed and moved to find something to do. 

His apartment was small. It had but only one bedroom and a sorry excuse for a bathroom. The kitchen was too small to fit even the fridge but it tried. His living room was hardly any better. He had no sofa. Only a decating mess of a bean bag camped in front of a computer monitor he had connected to what ever console he so desired, he'd bought all of them at a pawn shop and half of them did what they were supposed to. There wasn't really a hallway to link these. They all just sorta meshed together. And while Jonathan had the cash to move out and find bigger and better, he was happy here. For living alone, this was all he needed. Sure it would be nice to have a chair of sorts somewhere, but his bean bag, what little was left of it, worked just fine. He thought about buying an actually souch when he remembered Luke visiting. However, Luke more often than not had Jon come over to his and Evan’s place instead. Compared to his apartment, their house was giant. Hell, it had two stories and more than one bathroom. Unnecessary, thought Jonathan. 

At times like these, however, the lack of furniture and space drove him mad. There was nothing to keep him occupied. He could dick aeround on the computer for a while but recently it hasn't been cooperating well. That's the price he had to pay for buying it used, he supposed. Besides that, he had on my his phone to keep him entertained and it did a list poor job. No app, no matter how addictive, could hold his fleeting attention for more than seven seconds. 

The overwhelming feeling of uselessness flooded his mind the way spiders flood the sky shortly upon hatching. Millions and millions of tiny baby spiders. He didn't like it. 

His body began to move without his thought. His hands snatched his keys from the countertop and he fled from his apartment. His car started up with an energized roar. His poor neighbor’s newborn infant began to scream at the sound and she had to drag herself out of bed to tend to it, silent cursing Jonathan under her breath. There had been no need for her to do so. For a while now, God had watched Jonathan with a disapproving eye. The pits of hell awaited for his arrival. Jon had no idea just how close he'd been besides those gates nor how many times. But as he left, Tyler and Smitty had returned to the Marsh. The same eyes that had previously been on the back of Ohm, the same eyes that had only momentarily been tracking Smitty, watched Jonathan speed away from the safety of their car. They, too, were as tired as the investigative team. The gates of hell were held hostage in it's trunk and Jonathan had missed them by perhaps a hair. The hunter glanced at his passenger seat just to confirm the list of people he was meant to keep tabs on. He refused to let another get away. Only after a second car got behind Jon did this one start up, and the slow game of cat and mouse began. The last one escaped, this one, however, should be a relatively easy catch. 

Jonathan pulled up to the large neighborhood and hunted down a nearby parking space he wouldn't lose. He lost a lot of things. He still had no idea where he'd put his glasses, or where his left contact went, let alone his wallet. That was just gone. He had to take a picture of his parking space as a reminder he'd later forget. He forgot to lock the doors, stuffed the keys into his pockets and began walking towards the building he hoped was the right one. 

Tyler’s gated community wasn't anything too special. Hell, it wasn't really worth being gated. Most who lived within the practically useless gates were the real problem. This thought ran through Jon’s head as he hopped the gate and made his way down the pointlessly round about streets for Tyler’s house. He knew Tyler wasn't home and wouldn't be for a while, but that was besides the point. Recently, Ohm had moved in with Tyler. His own apartment long again forgotten about with the last of his things finally here. Tyler could be half way across the world for all Jonathan cared, it was Ohm he was after. Not really. Not Ohm per say. Hell, Luke would be better company, but he needed advice from a professional. Put that in quotes. He refused to admit that psychology was a science. However, Oh could understand people and Jonathan had no idea what the fuck was up with himself and just needed an outsiders opinion. An outsider who could pinpoint exactly what was happening and avoid the ass kissing and “There's nothing wrong with you" talk everyone else gave him. 

His fist drilled into the door. The sound of it was sharp and soft. His hand throbbed. He waited impatiently for there to be any sort of movement from k side the house. He frowned at the lack of such. He knocked again, harder, much to his hand’s dismay. Finally, a light turned on. He knocked some.more just to urge Ohm along. A small group of “I'm comin’ I'm comin’”s rang out ever so gently. With sleep still ordering his movements, Ohm figured Tyler had locked himself out somehow and, like a dog, needed to be let in. He was surprised and disgruntled to find and wired Jonathan eagerly pushing past him to let himself in. 

“Hello to you too, then,” ohm mumbled, shutting and locking the door. 

Jonathan found himself easily to Tyler’s sitting room and plopped down on the couch with a groan. This felt nice. He had to get one of these. He watched Ohm lazily follow after him. God, was he this slow with all of his clients? 

“You doing ok-?”

“No! No I'm not! Now do that thing where you figure out what's wrong and fix it! You're good at that.” 

“Thats- I mean, thank you, but I'm out of practice,” when his thoughts finally caught up to him, Ohm was able to remember social rules and the fact that Jonathan had just broken about most of them. “Can't this wait? Book an appointment so that-”

“No this can't wait!” 

Ohm took a seat across from Jon on the floor. He stole a pillow to prop himself up against and made a vague gesture for Jon to go ahead and vent. Jonathan, understanding this, was happy to start rambling. 

He was an organized man. He liked to keep things neat and clean. Tyler’s pig stye of a house was spotless within three hours of Ohm’s move in. His old apartment had been clean enough to lick food off the floor if one so wished. Work was the same. He kept files neat, labeled, and put away in order of case number. He had a calendar he'd markup for important dates, places to be, people he needed to meet with. He had three different phone lines, one for personal use, one for bureau work, and one for clients in need of counseling. He liked having the time to get set up. He liked having things orderly. It drove him up thenfucking wall when ever someone showed up without an appointment and only Ohm’s time to kill. Jonathan especially because he never listened. Getting woken up at the asscrack if dawn plucked a nerve he didn't even know he had. He half wanted to throw Jonathan out and go back to bed. But the bigger man inside if him reminded him that Jonathan was a friend, a pain in the ass, but still a friend, who came to him in distress, and he in turn should be there for him. 

“Alright, current emotion?”

“I don't know, what's the one where you're between annoyed, sad, and anxious?”

“Distraught?”

“Sounds too weak, but yeah. Distraught.”

“Why?”

 

What the hell kind if question was that? Jonathan had watched Ohm give counseling to several people of the years of working together. He'd been vital in the calming down of a teenager who'd witnessed the brutal hate crime that took the life of a flamboyantly gay African American boy at a party they'd gone to. Not one of the prosecutors had been able to get her to speak, let alone look at them, but in came out with a gentle voice and soft whispers if reassurance and she retold everything down to the last detail. The teen came to the office every now and again for a quick meet up and check in. Jonathan didn't think the girl would speak at all. 

Point is, when Ohm usually meet with others, he was calm, asked interestingly worded questions, and he seemed far more calculated. Now Ohm just seemed like he wanted to make this go as quickly as humanly possible. For reasons Jonathan couldn't quite understand, that pissed him off a bit. How dare he? 

“Because I'm here with you of all people! 6 billion people and I'm here with you.”

“For what reason?” Ohm pretended that the last comment didn't upset him. The exasperated look Jonathan gave in response was well worth it. 

“For what reason-? Maybe because I can't sleep, I can't work, I'm useless, and I don't know what to do and some part of me thought that you could help me!”

Ohm cocked an eyebrow. He'd tried counseling Jonathan once before. He'd learned much in the hour long talk. Jonathan was going to be an asset regardless. He fought Ohm when he tried to be patient and cautious with his questions. The counseling session turned in to an hour of Jon ridiculing Ohm for his choice of profession. To get to Jon, Ohm had to get to the point and quickly.

“Help you with what exactly?”

Was Ohm fucking with him? Where was he for this past conversation? He sat up with fury in his heart and made an series of sounds that couldn't possibly be translated into any language thus far known to man. Oh watched him with the best poker face he could pull, the urge to laugh growing stronger with every stutter that pushed past Jonathan.

“Fix me! Make me not useless and able to sleep! I told you psychology was bullshit. Fuck it, I'll go talk to someone else.”

Ohm held up a hand with little care. Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks. He remained seated as Ohm pondered on what to do. He knew that Jon was having problems with memory and hand eye coordination. He’d over heard mention of his unusually poor performance. Had hoped that Jon was going to bitch at him for a little longer so that he could actually think if something to try and help. But alas! Jon’s temermant had forced him into a wall. He didn't think to great on the spot like this. It didn't matter. He'd conjured up an answer.

“Work, right? That's your main concern? Once you can start working again, you’ll calm down and you'll be able to sleep.”

Jonathan was quiet. When he boiled everything down, yeah that sounded correct. That was still a problem. Starting it didn't help at all so what was the point in that? Whatever, Jonathan pushed the bubbling angry comments aside for now and allowed Ohm to continue.

“Sending you to work on a case could delay us, frustrate you, and cause more problems than solve any. These are people we’re dealing with. Yeah, they're dead, but they're still people, so tampering with evidence and harming the bones is frowned upon. Maybe not by colleges, but by you. Am I correct?”

Jon thought about it. Marcel once snapped a tibia right in half. It nearly broke Jonathan’s fragile heart. The sound of it still haunted him. Since then, he'd treated every set of remains with the utmost care. He figured it was because they needed the fractures to help identify people or help identify weapons. But looking back at that particular instant, they'd already figured out who and with what. So why had it hurt? He didn't like the term “morals” as it was used loosely and often to excuse a lot of inexcusable behavior. One can't simply make a list of good morals, it differs from person to person. Which is why he accepted it here. To Marcel, they'd already gotten the most out of the bones. To Jonathan, this was a person of whom others wanted to bury, or cremate. They had a family still, people who loved them and missed them and just wanted them to be put to rest. They, too, could have wanted their remains to be handled with a little more respect. But that wasn't exactly the moral thing to do, but the respectful thing to do. 

“I want to give people back to their families,” Jon spike after a moment’s silence. 

“That's all?”

“I want their families to rest assured that they were taken care of and avenged.”

“You want to do it right. You want to bring them justice.”

Yes. He never thought of it like that before. It sounded weird. His cheeks burned a faint pink in mild embarrassment. He was trying to play the silent hero, the one that smaller people remembered better. He was Tyler, but with less action and more observation. He gave out a small hum in an attempt to confirm all of this. 

“You need practice, but can't practice on any case, solved or unsolved…” Ohm trailed off. He suddenly leapt to his feet, “Solved cases are considered closed by jurisdiction and to open one up again let alone acquire access to the old files is costly and considered pointless by most judges, don't wanna risk fucking up- I have a solution!” 

Jon watched the man ramble off for a bit with ever growing concern. He'd seen Ohm’s thought process twice. Once when they'd been dealing with a dog fighter and the other was when they'd been hunting down an abusive wife. How his brain jumped from problem to pondering to answer with so few bridges to cross from one to the next was astounding. 

“Ok, so you can fix me?”

“No! I can't fix people, Jonathan, I've told you this a thousand times. Much like when physically sick, the body will heal itself, I just need to give you the right tools. You up for a bit of a field trip?”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“To cash in a favor. I'm going to put on pants.” 

Ohm then promptly excused himself from Jon’s company. It had taken Jonathan that last remark to notice that his host was wearing an oversized shirt that fit him more like a dress and hid his boxers. He stifled a laugh and relaxed for a second. 

He'd been angry at first. Ohm’s stupid questions irritated the shit out of him. Looking back at it though, the doctor was just trying to get Jonathan to pinpoint the real issue without the song and dance of smaller issues. He was hunting for the root of the problem. He'd done well at finding it, Jonathan admit. He'd give Ohm some credit there. But that's all he was willing to give for now. The man just claimed to have a solution to all this. That sounded damn near impossible, and yet, Jonathan wasn't surprised. 

He dragged himself from the comfort of the couch when Ohm returned. He was lead back into the could outdoors, bathed by the gentle porch light. He watched a moth feverishly head butt away at the lit lamp. Had he been paying more attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed the fact that Ohm neglected to lock the upper lock, setting for the door handle alone. He would have noticed that there was some dog pissing on his car tire. He would have seen the other car waiting not too far, on but lacking any headlights to show it. Only it's engine’s hum gave away it's secret. But of course, Ohm’s chirpy little, “You ready?” And the dancing moth kept his eyes away from all this.

“I still don't know where we’re going or why.”

“Wanna ride with me then or are you willing to follow me?”

“I'll ride with you.”

Oh made a vague gesture over to the parked car. Jonathan was quick to hop into the passenger seat and almost instantly overwhelmed. His car had food wrappers tossed left and right. Not enough to smell, but enough to notice. He hadn't seen such a clean car since when he went to with Luke to help buy his first truck. That had been eons ago. He almost believed it was new, but every now and again he caught the faintest ghosting outline of a stain, some scratches where the key fit into the ignition, and tiny proofs of just how old this car was. Somehow that made it worse. The damned thing even smelled clean. But not new car clean, pine sol clean. It was disorienting to say in the least. He almost hated it. 

Ohm was quick to start the car and head off. He left next to no time for Jon to ask any questions. And when ever he tried, Oh refused to cough up any answers. Jon was forced to sit in near perfect stillness the entire ride, never once sure on where it was they were going. Then the shabby walls of the VR popped into view.

“Is...is Tyler here?”

“No. But a friend of mine is and he owes me several favors,” Ohm replied quickly.

He lead Jon almost by the hand through the labyrinth of Hall's till he found a smaller and quieter lobby. He pointed to a seat near the door and made the silent demand for Jon to take it. He then moved to speak in a hushed voice to a man behind a desk. The quick exchange of words lead to the man escorting Ohm into the back. Jonathan moved to follow, feeling more and more like a lost puppy with every passing second, but again Ohm held a hand up, requesting he stay seated and wait. 

Jonathan watched faces blur in and out of view. The halls creaked and groaned with the passing lives. Those who saw him eyed him like the outsider he was. It made him feel smaller than how small he already was. It wasn't fair. Unthinking, he pulled his knees to his chest to try and make himself smaller. If he became just small enough to vanish from sight then he'd be ok with being small. However such was not to be. 

He waited for Ohm in this uncomfortable paranoia for well over an hour. Part of him wondered if he'd been forgotten. Luke often forgot him when they went grocery shopping as roommates. He'd been left alone in a target miles away from their shared home for half a day. He'd only gone to the bathroom for a minute. He wound up walking home. Luke didn't even realize that he was gone. He didn't take Ohm to be the type but then again he hardly knew Ohm the way he knew others. Just when he'd given up on Ohm, the doctor appeared again now holding a large file and small flash drive. He shot Jon a smile and gestures for him to follow him out the doors and back to the car. 

The sun was starting it's climb over the rolling hills that were blocked by the wall of smog. Shadows ran across the ground resembling elongated hands of skeletons reaching for the life they no longer have. Oh sighed. After this he was going back to bed and he wasn't getting up again until Tyler came home. Or until he had to clock into work. What ever came first. He handed Jon the file and flash drive.

“Homework! These are my xrays and that's them digitally. Every bone. I know every knock and crack and how I got them. You are going to use these as practice. You're going to tell me how old I was, how I got hurt, and what type of fracture or injury it was. Recreate my life and I'll tell you if you're right or not. Practice.”

Jonathan was quiet. At first he thought Ohm was crazy and beyond narcissistic. But upon thinking about it more, this could actually work. He shared a curious glance into the folder. There had to have been roughly forty pages at least.

“Do I have a time limit?”

“No. This isn't to cause stress. It's to help. I'll be checking in on how you're doing. No pressure. This work for you?”

Jon tucked the flash drive into his pocket and held the folder close to his chest. He wasn't sure why but this little project felt insanely personal. He wondered what he'd learn about his friend that he hadn't even told Tyler. The fear of making a mistake here was more than he expected. 

“You cashed in a favor to get what, fifty x-rays for me?”

“Sixty two, actually, and yes. Now you do me a favor. Make an appointment next time.”

Jon laughed and nodded. That was fair. Oh drove Jon back to his place and spent a solid fifteen minutes looking for where in earth Jon had parked his car. They gave a quick parting and Ohm watched Jon drive off. Once more he felt a wave of unease. He looked around quickly for the cause. Someone was there with him. Waiting. But where? Uncomfortable and frightened, Ohm quickly saw himself inside and sent Jonathan a quick text to let him know when the other got home. Jon agreed to this new demand then promptly forgot about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Wednesday! Check it! Sorry for the short chapter, but it was important. Nearly all of it. Nearly. Hehehee


	10. Ten

The sun had risen long ago by now. The coffee, now half empty, warm, and melted, was doing little to keep Tyler awake. Smitty had been whisked away the second they got to the Marsh, much to Tyler’s disappointment. The child, when hyper yet drop dead tired, was a riot. Tyler had to pull over to laugh twice. He’d fallen getting out of the truck. His foot uad missed the ledge. Having expected that to catch him, he had been shocked to find it was lower than what he was comfortable with. By the time he realized why, it had been too late. All Tyler heard was a high pitched squeak of a shriek. He'd turned just in time to watch Smitty vanish beneath the window. Smitty wasn't happy at all when Tyler refused to help him up in favor of laughing his ass off to the point where he accidentally let out a fart. That made Smitty laugh. When Luke finally arrived, ready to help Brock and Evan with their findings, he'd spotted the two howling like hyenas. This place was becoming more and more of a mad house and less like a criminal investigative hive. 

But now Luke was camped out in his office staring at photos sent in by the crew. Smitty was helping the team bring in what all they'd collected. And Tyler was alone. He wandered around the halls aimlessly for a while. He could’ve probably gone home, but he stayed a while longer to relay what he'd discovered unto Evan first. Evan was with Smitty, struggling to make sure that all evidence was documented and accounted for. 

There were hundreds of people there that Tyler could easily entertain himself with. He figured that he should let them to work. Some had jobs that require their upmist attend think, such as Sark who’d found a busted window about three minutes before the team showed up. He was now on high alert. Marcel often worked with body parts that still had living tissue. He was always in a strict time frame. And perhaps that's why Tyler was startled to find the good man draped lazily about the break room table with an empty cup in hand. He smiled at Tyler.

“I don't think we’re solving this one,” he admit. Tyler could only make a small agreeing sound. He took a seat and messaged Evan that he was there. He wasn't sure what else there was that they could do. Working with drug cases was always a bitch. Most of their unsolved bodies lying in wait in limbo and purgatory we're drug cases. Except for a mother and her two kids. They had been murdered years ago. And they had caught the bastard that killed them too, but evidence had not been enough to lock them away. That man walked free to this day. Besides them, there was seldom any bodies that weren't involved with drug related cases. 

“Any new bodies matching the surgeon and dentist?”

“None this far. I don't want there to be any more. I hope these two were it.”

“Here’s to hoping I guess,” Tyler griped, taking Marcel’s cup and raising it. He frowned at the cups weight and glanced inside. 

Marcel rolled off the table and caught himself uncomfortably in a chair. He took the cup back and set it down between them. His hands hunted around inside his pockets until he found an old receipt. He rolled it into a ball and gave it a small toss. It missed the cup by a foot. Tyler took the was and repeated the other’s action.

“It won't really matter. Jonathan’s gone off the deep end. Smitty’s talented, I'll give him that, but we’d need Jonny. With what little flesh we get left, there isn't anything I can do. Craig’s going to find the same particulates. Brock and Luke will tell me that he was another man just like any other, maybe this time a pilot or an engineer. Smitty could tell me the type of fracture and pinpoint the newest ones. But Jonathan could tell the story. Without the story, we're all lost. We’re just looking at the same bloody pictures now with different faces.” 

Tyler had never before found Marcel in a state of hopelessness before. It was alarming and uncomfortable. He watched the little wadd of paper catch along the cup’s eim before rumbling in with a soft clicking sound. Marcel made a small, less than excited celebratory gesture before reaching in to take back the ball of paper and restart the game. 

“I don't know what to do with this case anymore. My hands are tied.”

“What haven't we done yet?”

Marcel grumbled and frowned when he missed the cup and whole damn table for that matter. He got up to hunt down the paper. 

“Found any good suspects. Found her legs, those are still missing. Find where the parent plants came from. It's not like it matters. She's been dead for a week. If they're a drug addict, paranoia could have chased them out of state ages ago.”

“Maybe we’re attacking the suspect list wrong.”

Marcel rolled his eyes Tyler could say that again. Sometimes he wondered if getting into this profession was the right decision. It often seemed like he was always waiting on the feds to catch up on their end. He watched Tyler think for a bit. It was almost amusing. Pitiful was a better fitting word. However, Marce had made the mistake of underestimating the power behind the sleep deprived mind. 

“Undercover.”

“What's up?”

“We get the cameras, look through and pinpoint regulars. Find the more angry of the bunch. Look for the ones who linger in the bathrooms for too long. Any and all who talk to Minx.”

Marcel returned to his seat. This plan sounds legit for now. But it still didn't exactly tie back into Tyler’s first statement. He suppressed a soft giggle. This round about thinking was something Tyler and Craig shared and as annoying as it was, it was entertaining too.

“That's a start.”

“Evan and I can handle the rest from there. We’ll lure them out by being drug dealers, or, no-! I got it!” Tyler leapt from his seat. Marvel was flabbergasted. He watched Tyler go and quickly moved to stop him, tripping over his chair in the process. 

“You can't take Evan! I need him here!”

“Fine, I’ll take Smitty!”

There was nothing Marcel could say or do to stop Tyler. He was already halfway down the hall and had made up his mind. He would his way through the Marsh’s halls and stopped dead in his tracks when he finally found the truck fill of evidence. Smitty was collapsed and unconscious in the corner. Evan was barking orders at people he didn't know and hoped to God that they'd just get the damn job done and done right. He didn't even acknowledge Tyler's presence. 

Smitty awoke with a startled shriek and jumped to his feet desperate to appear that he hadn't been napping at all. The attempt failed for obvious reasons and knowing this brought a bright blush to his cheeks. He'd been expecting Evan to have been the one to wake him. He was startled to find Tyler towering over him looking more than displeased. He smiled weakly and began stuttering out some lame ass excuse. Tyler had no time to such Tom foolery. He shut the boy up quickly with a harsh, “Common pipsqueak, we're going in another field trip.”

Evan’s ears perked at the familiar and missed sound of Tyler’s voice. He turned faster than his body had been prepared form through the sudden wave of dizziness he spotted Tyler bitching at his intern. He smiled and hopped along to greet his partner.

“You're still here?”

“Yeah, I wanted to let you know that the one Minx beat the shit outta was the assistant manager, who had witnesses, and footage to prove it. I came to borrow your errand boy.”

Errand boy? It took a lot to offend Smitty. He was friends with certain characters that you just couldn't have thin skin around. He'd been called a twink only shrek could love, the sad emo voted most likely to remain emo in high school, the milkman’s disappointing son, and many more much less pg names. But how dare Tyler call him and errand boy? As of late, Smitty felt as if he held this whole operation in his hands. It would fall apart if not for him. Who would they have inspect the bones? Jonathan? Earlier that week he'd called a phalange a metacarpal and he was dead serious about it too! He'd like to see them try to labe what he does as mere errands and then try to do them all themselves. Then they'd see. And as much as Smitty wanted to shout all of this at Tyler, the man was taller than a good damned skyscraper in Seattle and broader than a fucking train. Smitty was brave, but not brave enough to face him. He liked living. Sometimes. 

“Why him? I can come.”

“No, orders from the boss, he needs you here.”

“No! Fuck that! I'm my own man and Marvel can't put me on a leash like that. Smitty, my margins are now your margins, Tyler I'm coming with you.”

The act of defiance thrilled Tyler. He'd only seen Evan so fired up once before. And that had been upon their first case together. Tyler resented Evan for as long as he could. He kept the small man at an arm’s length at all times. He refused to let Evan do anything daring or remotely dangerous. Tyler was I charge and he often had to loudly remind his field partner of this little fact. He didn't talk to Evan about anything other than work. And it drove Evan mad! He finally lashed out at Tyler, earning his place in Tyler’s mind as a worthy partner. And a stubborn pain in the ass. It was nice to see that same fire come to life in the man’s eyes.

“Oh yeah? You're just going to ignore your boss like that?”

“Yes! No. I might get fired for this actually. Depends on what it is he needs me to do. If Smitty can handle it, then I'm coming with you. If it is a job too big for Smitty then fuck me I guess.” He turned to Smitty with a proud smile. This far the intern had proven himself to be more than what Evan had expected. He trusted Smitty to do well with whatever task he got assigned. “I doubt Smitty would have any troubles though. He's talented.”

It was weird how the two continued to talk about him as if he wasn't there at all. No, weird is the wrong word. Rude, that's the right term. He crossed his arms at the conversation’s structure and yet found himself smiling wide at the given praise. And here he thought Evan hated him. 

Probably because Evan did. Evan hates all interns. There was nothing that could change that. But he could tolerate Smitty and the boy actually did his work well. Tolerate and like are two completely different words and Smitty strained the first very much. Should Smitty wind up going on this little field trip in place of Tyler, then Smitty better count his lucky stars because then Evan would really hate him.

“Go ask Marcel.”

“No. Marcel can kiss my ass. I'm going. Where are we going?”

“To go buy drugs.”

“Brilliant idea! We’ll go- wait, hold on, what?”

Tyler moved to lead one of the two down the hall. At this point he didn't really care which one followed him. Smitty glanced at Evan nervously. He really didn't want to tag along. Once the unpacking was over with, he was free to go home. He could almost hear in the whistle of the winds the cry of his bed. The song it sang reminded him of a widow waiting for her husband to return from the war. How he longed to return to its warmth and safety. He hoped that Evan would defy their rather frightening boss and leave Smitty here. But the look on his face told the poor boy otherwise. 

Evan turned to the intern, his growing concern slowly eating away at his face. He and Tyler had done thousands of interesting things trying to catch a criminal. They’d once pretended to be step brothers looking for their father while hunting down the man who murdered a small family. Evan very much enjoyed going undercover like that. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like being someone else for a change. The momentary escapes would remind him how much he loved the life he had. But he weighed the odds for this one and didn't like them. Old people he could handle, drag Queen competitions he could pull off, but he didn't like the idea of getting so close and friendly with those hooped up on drugs and tweeking hard enough to kill. But was he willing to risk sending Smitty in his place? Yes. Was that the morally correct thing to do? No. 

Smitty looked so tired. He could barely keep his eyes open. His words fell from him in one singular slurred mess of syllables everyone just pretended to understand, much to Smitty's annoyance. He needed a break. He'd been working much harder than anyone else on the team. And harder still now that Jon was unable to do anything anymore. As much as he hated the danger involved with this one, he couldn't send the intern out like this. What if things went wrong and he wound up hurt or worse? Evan didn't like him, but he wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing that he'd practically been responsible for that. That thought scared him. A small voice promptly told him it was because that he actually liked the boy a bit, bit he shut that thought down instantly. He sighed and motioned for Smitty to stay put.

“Go help Marcel. After wards, go home and get some rest. I'll even give you the rest of today off.”

There was a sudden shift of light in his eyes. There was a god! He was too tired to smile, but damn did he try. The face he made scared Evan a tad. He backed away slowly and worried for the kid’s mental state before trotting off to catch up to his partner. He scoffed at the thought that Marcel had intended for him to remain here while they sent the new fish out. He briefly hoped that he wasn't needed for anything important, and then the whole debacle was forgotten. 

“Where to?”

“Some alleys near or around lipstick.”

After this, if it worked or otherwise, they'd have to go get the warrant for Lipstick’s security camera footage. Tyler hoped they wouldn't have to go to that. The judge didn't like their temporary lawyer in the slightest. Tyler missed their old one. He couldn't understand why the man would leave out of nowhere like that. Then again, people do crazy things all the time. He hoped that they could get a decent suspect list out of this excursion. Or at least have some fun doing so. What ever happened, they'd for sure wind up arresting someone tonight, and that was a good day in Tyler’s book.

For others, other was not a good day. Jonathan tossed his keys onto the counter and moved to his living room. He sat down on the floor and carefully began placing down the x-rays. Before long, he'd managed to build the whole person. Unfortunately, some were backwards or switched. And he knew that this was an issue but he couldn't figure out which ones were wrong. He let out a frustrated scream and temporarily gave up. As a kid, Jonathan would love puzzles regularly. His grandma apparently didn't know what an appropriate gift was. When he was six she bought him his first one thousand piece puzzle. It had a picture of the beach. There were hundreds of blue pieces. Jon had decided to start on the puzzle right away. But the blue pieces angered him. He gave up, vowing to never return to the beast again. But then he had a cookie and some laughs with Grandma and he went back to the puzzle. He solved it before his grandma left. It had impressed his father beyond words. 

Jon figured that was all he needed. A cookie, something to laugh at, and then he'd try again. He got up, taking a small flimsy paper with him. His cupboards lacked the sweets he wanted, and while not surprised, Jonathan was still very disappointed. He begrudgingly decided that he could have some stale cereal instead. He sat down at his counter and looked at the X-ray he'd taken with him. Right off the bat he could see scratches and cracks. He frowned. He'd dealt with the bones of professional stunts men. Not even they had this many injuries as a whole compared this this solitary segment. Jonathan wondered how a man could hurt himself so often. He grumbled remembering that it was his job to find out. He got up and put back what he assumed was the left lower arm back in place. It still didn't look like it belonged, but it made more sense than what he'd previously had there. Baby steps, he supposed. 

Jonathan fell to his project, hyper focused and glad that his hands finally had something productive to do. He didn't hear the soft jiggling of his door knob. He was blissfully unaware of the unwanted visitor trying to get in. 

The only thing that saved him was when his phone began to ring. He cursed aloud, grumpy because he'd finally gotten half of the bones put into their respective places and was in a role. He pulled the phone from his pocket and began to pace around. The jiggling at his door abruptly stopped. Jonathan was left none the wiser. 

“Tyler, what do you want? Do you have any idea how early it is?”

“I'm aware, mother fucker, but I need you to do me a favor.”

“No! Get Smitty to do it!”

“Smitty’s at home.”

“So am I!”

“Oh good. This should be easy for you then. Listen, I need you to Google what drug addicts look like and send me pictures of the ones who look the most like me and Evan.” 

Jonathan was baffled. Did Tyler even hear the weird words coming out of his mouth? And people called him the crazy one. He shrugged. The task was simple enough. 

“I can do that.”

“Thank you! And when you're done, get to bed! Do you have any idea how early it is?”

“Shut up.” He quickly hung up before Tyler could get in another word. He stood there scrolling through pictures in the internet. After about five minutes he just kinda gave up and sent two random ass pictures and called it a day. Whatever Tyler was up to, he wished him luck. He moved to get back to the x-rays when he was stopped by the returned want for a cookie. He then remembered that he was a grown man and could get his own damn cookies when ever he so pleased. He carefully put all of the x-rays back into the folder and hid them in his room. He snatched up his wallet and keys. There was a small rustle behind the door. He stepped out into the narrow hall and began looking up what stores were open. Unfortunately there was only one Walmart about eleven miles out. It would have to do. He hopped into the elevator and began his descent. His attacker to be stood anxious in the stairwell and watched Jonathan disappear. He'd be back, right? Good. That would have to do. 

Tyler looked at the given pictures curiously. One was a woman, the other was a balding man. Not exactly what he'd been hoping for, but good enough. He hunted down Luke, who’d probably only gotten there about two seconds ago. He thrust his phone at Brock who took a startled jump back.

“Alright, Luke make us pretty.”

Luke had been a special effects artist before working here. He was skilled with makeup. Most of the times he'd been left to turn a man into a bloody mess while somehow keeping him “attractive” or adding scales or whatever. He frowned at the given request. It's been years since he's had to do a full face of makeup. There was a reason he got into sculpting. 

He sighed heavily and dragged Tyler and Evan into his office. He hunted down the makeup kit he'd thought about getting rid of in countless occasions as it took up too much space. However he couldn't get rid of it because shit like this would happen just often enough to deem the damned thing still necessary. He sat them both down and moved quickly to make them look sickly pale and old and sick. He added a few sores. When he was done he could barely recognize the two seated before him. Good. Then neither would the people on the streets. He pulled away, satisfied with his work.

“Your pictures were horrible, but it worked out,” he informed. Tyler took this as their queue to leave. He pulled out his phone to see how bad he looked. The sight startled him. He hoped to God that the only time he ever looked this bad was when he was dead and rotting in the ground. Still he was impressed.

“Nice! Why on Earth did you quit doing special effects?”

“I didn't quit. I was fired. Now go on, get! I got shit to do.” 

Evan didn't need to be told twice. He hopped out of his chair and waited for Tyler to excuse himself. He had to admit, this job made it difficult for him to connect with his husband as much as he wanted to sometimes. He valued what little time they got together. He took Luke’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Thanks. I'd give you a kiss but I don't want to smudge anything.”

Luke made a quick move to place his own little kiss on Evan’s cheeks and pulled away grinning wife with pride, “Nah, this shits meant to stay in place through extreme heat, a lot of moisture, and on set explosions. It won't smudge.” He gave a light smack on Evan’s ass and walked him to the door. “You come back safe, got it?”

“Got it.” 

Evan didn't want to leave all of a sudden. He spent a second longer to appreciate the presence of his husband before moving to hunt down Tyler. He was already in the truck. Once Evan was half way in, Tyler started the damn thing and took off. Evan took a second to pray as he struggled with his buckle for a second. He hoped that some God was listening. And if there wasn't anything there, he hoped that he wasn't to be doomed to hell. 

Tyler took a sharp turn. Evan was pressed up against the window. The speeds growing and the turn unending, Evan watched a black ring start circling around his field of vision. He was going to puke. Tyler let out an excited whoop and Evan somehow knew that he was dying tonight. He had no way to express his terror and nearly no time to do so as Tyler straightened out the car and resumed on their way. Evan threw open the car door and emptied his stomach of the coffee he'd had earlier that day. Tyler slammed on the breaks, laughing. He hopped out of the car and waited patiently for Evan to join him. He should have sent Smitty. 

“God, you look like shit. Common then.”

Tyler was going to kill them with his driving one day. He sighed and moved to avoid stepping in his own sick. He followed Tyler like a lost puppy. They slowly made their way closer to Lipstick and found a good ally to camp in for a bit. Evan expected this to backfire on them. He was expecting to be seated there for way too long for no one to show up. He thought that they'd be forced to use the security cameras to help them. He was wrong. Not even an hour later, seven people showed up. They didn't speak to each other in a whole group. At most there'd be a pair mumbling to each other. Tyler cocked an eyebrow at the sight. An eighth joined them not too much longer after that. He moved from one to the other making silent exchanges. The original crowd of seven began to dissipate. The eighth turned to Evan and Tyler and froze. They then immediately took off running. Tyler cursed under his breath. He wasted no time giving chase. Evan friend at the sight. He couldn't run that fast even if he really wanted to. He tried to remember the layout of the area and hoped to God he remembered it right. Maybe he could cut them off somewhere. 

The man threw down whatever he possibly could to try and slow Tyler down. It was all useless as Tyler was far back enough to be able to jump over the tumbling trash cans and carts of shit collected by the homeless. The man turned a corner hoping that Tyler wouldn't be able to handle the sharp turn. He could. And he did, better than the man he was changing in fact. He caught him easily and they both fell to the ground in a mess of limbs and exhausted panting. Evan had greatly miscalculated with his plan and found that the Ally he'd run down had no connections to the one that Tyler had run down. He was starting to panic when the wooden fence finally have way and he was returned to the weirdly organized block. He kept running, hoping that Tyler was ok. He didn't have to hope for long as he spotted him laying in the alley with the suspect now apprehended with him. Evan felt useless. He rushed iger, handcuffs at the ready and miranda rights already eager to flee from his tongue. He cuffed the stranger, reciting the mandatory words. He pulled the man off the ground. He looked familiar. Why did he look familiar.

Tyler knew! Tyler had seen the man more than Evan, even spent some ten minutes or more with him. He was almost surprised. The man looked far too small to be capable if killing anything bigger than a fly. 

“Sinow?”

“You know this man?” Evan asked making sure that the handcuffs were tight but not tight enough to cause harm.

“Sorta, he works for Minx.”

Evan gave a small hum in response. This went better than he expected. Now he just hoped that they could finally get some good damn answers! Now all they had to do was find the truck again.


	11. Eleven

The gentle strumming of a guitar echoed melodramatically through the Marsh. It was quiet and peaceful. Eerily so. The sort of sound that didn't belong in such a place at such a time. It was better fit for the ending credits of a horror movie. Perhaps it was the fact that there was no one around to interrupt it with new findings that made it feel so out of place. Or maybe it was the fact that the one creating this tune didn't belong here either. 

There was only one life occupying the laboratory. Marcel had finished with work early and sent everyone home early. It had been a cursing in disguise. The intruder watched with a proud smile as the team marched like ants out the doors. He lingered around for a moment longer to ensure that everyone was gone. And seeing as it now was no longer night at all, the security guards was off the clock as well. The Marsh was closed for the day.

Seated where Luke usually was, sat this stranger playing quietly. He stared at the screens before him. The small flash drive he'd plugged in was working it's magic and he knew that the Marsh would be helpless to stop him. So he continued to play with triumph the sad symphony of defeat for the crime solvers. All he needed now was his partner to return with the fourth victim. He'd been hoping to snatch up either Smitty or Brock. Smitty was a strong asset and he feared the boy’s hidden potential. Brock was perhaps the only one capable if undoing his hack job. He wanted them both dead. But Brock was safe and sound at home, sleeping in now besides his soon to be fiance. And Smitty was on a crowded train headed south. He was curious to learn who their new target was going to be. 

This was exciting. Anyone could work for this. Without Luke, they'd be unable to figure out why the bodies appeared to have aged far longer than possible. Without Ohm, they would never find the pattern they needed.Without… 

His phone rang. He answered it excitedly. His excitement died with a sour cry from the guitar. Jonathan? Was he crazy? The man was practically useless! He couldn’t so much as differentiate up from down without using a cheat sheet and even then he'd fail. Killing Jonathan would be like telling a blind person to identify what popsicle was red. There was no point. He quickly reminded his partner of this fact. He hung up with an angry shout. The team was littered with talented freaks and out of all the spectacular minds set at work they chose Jon? He got to his feet with a heavy huff. They were running out if time. They had a strict schedule to keep. As the saying goes, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. That was exactly what he intended to do. 

He stopped. A wicked idea popped into his head. Discredit Jonathan and they're down a player. Take away the computers and Luke and Brock are helpless. Maybe they didn't need to kill anyone just yet. He simply needed to disable everyone. He could prolong the game. Yes, yes this could work! His shout twisted into a horrible laugh that bounced off of every possible wall it could find. This could work just fine. 

And while everyone at the Marsh was gone and at home, it was Tyler and Evan still busy at work. They at first worried greatly about arresting the stripper. As far as they were concerned, they didn't exactly have a probable cause. However, not even two minutes after getting the man in cuffs did they discovered the copious amounts of drugs on his person. That became more than enough to warrant a proper arrest and was just barely enough to link him to the murder of his boss. 

Tyler sat in the observation room. He watched Sinow for a second. Evan was trying to finish up with some minor paperwork for the arrest just to authenticate it. The judge was very unhappy to have been woken up for such a small reason. He didn't mind taking his time to further delay the interrogation process. It wasn't just the judge that didn't care, their temporary lawyer was less than willing to help them out as well. It was more than frustrating to deal with and Evan couldn't wait for the day when they could get rid of this pompous shit head and get a real lawyer. He let out a happy sigh once he finally joined Tyler. 

“What all were you able to get?” Tyler asked, more than eager to get back to work. Maybe it was the sugar running through his veins or the lack of sleep that made him so antsy. He watched Evan anxiously. His partner moved far too slowly for his liking. 

“Blood tests, urine sample, and that's all I could squeeze out if the judge.”

“That's the bare minimum. Thats-! We’ve squeezed more out of that fucker with less to go off on and he-! The prick! He can suck my fucking ass!” 

“Hey,” The stress of the case along with half a million other things was clearly building up. Any moment now and Tyler would snap. Evan could see it in the knots that bulged in Tyler’s neck and shoulders. He was worried that if this kept up then Tyler would be too pissed to think straight. He approached his partner slowly and placed a gentle hand on his upper arm. He felt the other man almost melt into the touch. He briefly felt bad for the torment poor Oh would have to endure the second Tyler got home. The thought passed and he waited until the violent pulse beneath his hand settled.

Tyler watched his partner. He knew there's either be a lecture or some stupid pun to follow this little moment of intimacy. That's how these moments often went. He was wrong. Evan wasn't in a joking mood nor was he in a scolding mood. He was tired and sick of this case and thenbullshit that came with it, too. 

“We’ve solved cases with less than this. Much, much ess. It's going to be ok, ok?” Tyler nodded. Satisfied Evan dropped his hand and smiled, “Ok, then let's go.”

Evan moved first. He lead Tyler out the door and into the neighboring room. Tyler was more than happy to let Evan lead. He took a seat and felt relief swarm him. His feet throbbed and he was happy to be off of them. He took a second to get slightly more comfortable and once settled, glanced towards Evan to pet him know that they were good to continue.

The sight before the stripper was one he wouldn't forget for a long time. He couldn't understand how this absolute beast of a man could look so much more like a sleepy, old dog while the soft faced other looked like a dragon; angry and blood thirsty. And here he'd thought that the whole good cop bad cop gimmick was for show to be seen only on TV. He leaned away from them. Tyler forced back a grin. That was a good start. 

Evan quickly ran through the basics, asking patiently if Sinow would be willing to cooperate. The boy readily agreed to everything. Tyler thought that was a tad bit suspicious. Was that whole strip club’s faculty just super eager to be really fucking helpful? What was it that this one was hiding? 

“Can you tell us where you were on the night of June 17th between the hours of 2 am and 3 am?”

Sinow groaned. When he was young he used to watch crime shows all the time. He knew how this was going to go. No one was going to believe his alabi. 

“We closed early because it was dead quiet. So I went home to sleep. I had class the next morning.” 

“Did you leave alone?”

“No. Doxy dropped me off. She dropped Ritz off too. I can't drive, his car was in the shop, and we live about four blocks away from each other.”

Tyler furrowed his brow. Dead end after dead end. This case was a maze with no outlet. They were just going in circles, around and around and around. He glanced at Evan, convinced it was maybe time to throw in the towel. But Evan wasn't one for giving up. They'd made it this far, he believe they could take things further. He thanked Sinow and pardoned himself, motioning for Tyler to once again follow him out of the room. 

Tyler watched his partner in absolute silence. The gears in Evan’s head were turning feverishly. Tyler knew better than to disturb him when he got into this state of mind. That would be like walking up to Luke when he was sculpting and taking his soldering iron. He clenched his teeth, dead set determined to find a solution to their problem. He turned to Tyler with a sudden idea.

“We need Ohm. I can't tell if he's lying or hiding something. You can't keep your eyes open. We need help.”

Tyler nodded despite the fact that only one of those four sentences made any sense to him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and rang up his probably sleeping boyfriend. He was startled to find that he didn't have to wait so much as three rings before the other picked up. Evan looked hopeful. Tyler didn't have any trouble placing the request to get Ohm over. And with the good news, Evan grinned. 

“We’re going to get this bag of shit, Tyler. We’re going to solve this case.” 

Tyler didn't doubt him. Not even in the slightest. He had no idea what it was his partner was cooking up, but he knew it was going to be something good. It was just a shame that he wouldn't be awake to see what kind of mischief Evan was getting into. He wanted to stay and help, really he did, but he sat down for two minutes tops and was out like a light. 

He woke up to Ohm gently shaking him awake. Tyler didn't exactly hear what all the other was currently saying in that soft voice of his.He figured that the other had simply told him to wake up, and as a response, rubbed his eyes and smiled warmly, hoping that he hadn't just been asked a question. Seeing the other smirk in response helped could firm the fact that no questions had been asked and that simply being awake now was satisfying enough. Happy with this, he took Ohm’s hand in his and watched, not entirely all there yet, as Evan rapidly explained his dubious plan to the psychologist. 

Tyler was a little jostled to see his boyfriend look so perplexed. He wished he could get past the fog in his mind to figure out just what exactly was going on. It didn't exactly matter. Both suddenly turned to him and the initial fear that flooded him in that moment chased away any and all thoughts. He relaxed once he saw that both were smiling. Ohm gave a gentle tug on Tyler’s hand, indicating that he wanted Tyler to get up. 

“Alrighty, Evan. I’m going to drop him off at home. Want anything while I’m out?”

“Remember that doughnut shop? The one with the heart shaped soft pretzels?”

“Yeah?” He had no clue which place Evan was talking about. He'd Google it later. 

“They have these mini cinnamon rolls. Could you pick me up about three of those please?”

“Cinnamon rolls. Got it. Common, Tyler, let's go home.” 

Home sounded great. No, not just great, but fabulous! He happily got out of the chair and followed Ohm back into the parking garage he'd seen far too many times that day alone. 

Usually, he'd throw a fit if anybody else drove his truck. It was his baby, his pride and joy. And as recklessly as he drove, he figured that maybe he wasn't fit to drive and it would be better to, just this once, let someone else drive for a change. Besides, he trusted Ohm not to hurt the things he loved. 

Had he'd been in his right mind, letting Ohm drive would have been so far out of the question that it would take fourteen miles of paper, size eleven text, times New Roman font, single spaced, for the suggestion to ever pop up on the list of “Things he'd allow.” Ohm had wrecked his own car twice in the span of eight days. 

Whether or not Ohm crashed was beyond Tyler’s knowledge. He couldn't remember getting home, or inside, or half undressed, or even into bed. He just remembered the fleeting silhouette of his lover and the matress attempt to swallow him whole.. He pulled their comforter closer to his chin and nuzzled into his pillow. He was suddenly joined by the company of two dogs. Both of which decided to sleep practically in top of him. He smiled. This was nice. And with that last thought, he fell asleep.

Sark was wide awake. There was a light skip in his step and a song at his lips. The iced coffee he had in his hands hadn't been needed, simply wanted. As much as he joked about it, he found that he'd become terrifyingly addicted to Starbucks. He was a grown man and if he wanted to have hyper happy times and the sugar rush that would put a small toddler in a coma for all whole maintain the form of a delicious and whipped cream topped coffee then damn it he was going to go get one. 

He'd investigated the broken glass. He'd let Marcel know as everyone was leaving. Marcel bravely told him that they'd have a couple people come by and check it out. With the worry washed from his mind, and now being off of work, Sark was free to enjoy the morning sunlight and all it had to offer. 

He had one earbud in, primarily because the other didn't work anymore, and was tapping out the tune to the current song on his leg. His prescription sunglasses sat comfortably on the bridge of his nose and he was glad that he could get some use out of them for a while. The weather was nice enough for t-shirts and jeans if you so wished. In a matter of hours, who ever had decided to adorn themselves in such would soon find themselves over heating, but for now they could be comfortable like Sark. 

On days like this, when he was younger, he'd set out and go wherever the wind was blowing. he’d let it push his back and keep him going. He'd go on some of the best adventures that way. That had been how he'd first stumbled upon his wife, God bless her soul. The wind pushed him west towards an old pet shoppe. It wasn't in the best part of town and there was a big name brand pet shop about a block down. Business there wasn't the best. Still, this little lady approached him with the biggest smile and proudly announced that the dogs sheltered there were ready for adoption and looking for a good home. Where he lived, he couldn't keep pets. That didn't stop him from falling in love with all of the ones there. He gave the shoppe a large donation and then decided to show up regularly to volunteer. He found that it wasn't only the dogs that he loved. 

He moved out of his small studio apartment and I to a townhome. It wasn't the biggest upgrade, bit he was allowed to have pets. He brought home an old, half blind and deaf dog he gladly named Steve, despite the fact that she was a very happy girl. He also brought home the cute little shoppe keep. Five years later, they married. He'd never forget the day the wind pushed him in the best direction in his life. Just as he'd never forget the day it took him to his worst. 

If you've ever lost a loved one, or three, then you know just how painful it feels to go home and find they're not there. It's like there's a wall missing from the house. The wind, rain, and snow is free to pelt you till you’re too cold and wet to even think about getting up. It's announcing your home and only hearing your voice bounce back when there used to be a small chime of ,”How was your day?” It's like having the worst dream and reaching out for that warmth and comfort only to realize that you've been awake the whole time, and that warmth and comfort is never going to return to you. It's a pain that never really goes away. Even on days as beautiful as this, when everything was going just absolutely perfect, it still burned. 

He'd been afraid if following the wind for a very long time. It had taken so much from him. But he could no longer live his life in fear. What else did he have to lose at this point? He shut his eyes and focused on the music playing in his left ear and the sweet push against his face. He turned until it was directly to his back and started walking. 

He passed by many buildings that hid many lives. He walked on until his legs burned and he could bear it no longer. There then came a very sweet scent to his nose. He suddenly remembered just how hungry he was. He smiled. Today, the wind brought him to dessert. How pleasant. 

He wandered around a bit until he found where the smell originated from and happily stepped inside. 

The doughnut shop was cozy and warmer than it was outside. Light hearted acoustics played throughout the old building. The lady behind the counter gave him a welcoming wave. He smiled back at her and observed what all they had to offer. The small bell above the door gave out a light chirp and Sark turned to see who else the wind had swept in. 

The suit the man was clad in was a little much give weather. He looked a little sleepy but content with his current state of mind. Sark smiled, glad to see the familiar face and he welcomed the company. Later that night he'd question the wind’s intentions. But for now, he was just happy to be around someone he saw regularly in a place that felt like home before the storm. 

“What are you doing here, Mr. Ohm?”

“Doctor, not mister. I’m getting some pre-interrogation snacks. What brings you here, Mr. Sark?”

“The wind blew me in.” He inwardly chuckled at what he did there and beamed when he saw the smile spread on Ohm’s face. A hand flew mindlessly to his tousled hair. He understood. 

Ohm placed his order and moved to stand besides his friend. Friend might be too strong of a word. The two didn't exactly know each other. Sark knew Evan and Tyler better than he knew Ohm. He didn't exactly know everyone very well yet. Still, a friend of a friend is a friend of mine or something along those lines so both were quite content in fixing their acquaintanced status. 

Sark was the one to initiate the conversation. How they went from talking about dustorms in the old days to how people decided upon naming themselves and then things. Who gave up the name “toaster” was the one who should have really named things. Whoever named it the countertop was fired. Before they knew it, time had gotten away with them and Ohm was forced to take his leave. Sark was left alone in the doughnut shop. But he was not lonely. He was far from that. He thanked the lovely lady behind the counter, took his doughnuts, and saw himself home to relax for the rest of his day.

 

Ohm greeted Evan by handing him over the requested mini cinnamon rolls. The other took them greedily and moved to sit with Ohm in his office. At the second, Sinow was giving up the needed samples and given a break for food and water. He was disappointed that this would result in his going to jail for who knew how long, but he figured that he knew this sorta thing could happen. He was going to plead guilty to selling drugs. He'd been caught red handed anyway. And with the suspect currently occupied for another four minutes or so, Evan and Ohm had some time to talk things out.

“I can't place this guy. He's hiding something from me. Something g just isn't adding up. I know he was involved with this, I just don't know how. I think his ties with drugs also better links him to Minx’s murder. But I don't wanna scare him. What would you recommend?”

Ohm considered the problem for a moment. He tossed a sparing glance towards the empty interrogation room where they'd soon be due to go back to. 

“Alright, so let's say that he and Minx were both selling drugs, together maybe. If one was busy, the other was there. Makes sense, the two were already working together and appeared to be friends. Drug dealers don't typically deal in the same area, unless they're trying to start a turf war. Who ever killed Minx might want to kill him too. Offer him protection from that and I think he might be able to tell us who it is after him.”

Evan smiled. This was exactly why he liked having Ohm around. Tyler would have just threatened to lock the kid up and start back at square one. The given thought made logical sense to Evan, there was little room for doubt. And even if they were wrong about something, Sinow would probably be able to clear them right on up. Yes, he likes this.

“But what if that still doesn't reassure him?”

“Witness protection. He may be a drug dealer, but he helps us catch this murderer, we can legally set him up where he will be safe and also set him on a path away from anymore drugs. It's a win win situation for him. He won't be able to refuse the offer. We’ll drop charges if we have to.”

“Does this count as bribing?”

“No, this is bargaining,” Ohm stated firmly. Evan dropped his gaze. The other was right, and the possibilities of this working was lovely. 

“We can actually do this? I don't want to lie to the kid.”

“Trust me. I have six people I can contact to make sure this happens.”

“Six?”

“Well, more than that, but six people I know I can count on to cash in a favor like this.”

Ohm moved to find his office and prep the necessary papers he'd need. Several requests were sent to several people. It worried Evan just how many people owed Ohm favors. It seemed like he was always calling in for a favor. 

It didn't take Ohm long to get everything he needed set up and ready to go. All he had to do was say the word and the kid could be whisked away to a nice, safe, and quiet place where he could spend the rest of his life. 

Ohm entered the room alone. He smiled at Sinow and took a seat. He laid out the offer carefully and slowly, offering up his collected papers from earlier as proof. The kid looked ecstatic. Good, thought Evan. This was really good! Finally! They were getting somewhere! Sinow gave a hesitant nod and began speaking. Evan rushed to the intercom to hear what all the kid had to say.

“I don't know who exactly it was that killed Minx. But I do know that one of my co-workers went to clean up the mess. I don't know if it was Doxy or Ritz, I got dropped off first. But it was one of them. You promise that they can't come after me?”

“You're safe kid. I promise.” 

There was a large wave of relief behind Sinow’s eyes. He thought about that for a second, how nice it would be to get away from all this. He wouldn't have to strip to try and get through college anymore, he wouldn't have to worry about desperate people in need of a fix. No more threats. Free. He'd finally be free. And they dropped charges! This went far better than he thought it ever could, and he felt bad because he hadn't exactly given an answer. 

That wasn’t entirely true. Evan and Oh now had a very short suspect list. Two people is far easier to handle and manage than all of the county. Wouldn’t Tyler be pleased?


	12. Taelve

The day came and went rather swiftly. All were grateful for the break permitted. None were exactly looking forward to returning to work. The only one who might have been remotely interested was none other than Jonathan, who was munching on some Oreos. His glass of milk was slowly but surely losing it's retained chill and growing closer to room temperature. The bottom of the glass was a graveyard for the three and a half dropped cookies he'd left to drown. When he was young, he would have dug his whole hand inside that cup to save the precious treats. He'd grown out of that habit, literally, as his hand was now too big to fit and reach the cookie corpses. He'd tried, and the evidence of such was on his still damp finger tips. 

He looked at the x-rays from a far, worried that he'd get them messy if he got too close. He was hyper focused on the lower left arm. The damages he found there were prominent and yet to heal. He figured that Ohm got this when he'd jumped out of the car some weeks ago. It was a nasty looking thing that started from the scaphoid down the radius. It stopped about an inch away from the humerus. Most of the little bones in the wrist were cracked and chipped. No cast or brace could save those, unfortunately. 

If he could identify the type of fracture that it was then he'd at least have something to work with, some sort of starting point. That was better than nothing. Maybe he could try to work backwards from most recent to the oldest wounds he could find. But the longer he stared at the image, the less it made sense and the more all of the little cracks started to look the exact same. He tossed a glance at his cracked phone to check the time. Smitty was probably at home by now. Or at least he should be. He sighed and quickly called up the intern. He didn't want to use the boy as a crutch. He wanted to do this on his own. However he was swiftly learning the benefits of asking for help when he needed it. There once was a time where he never had to ask for help. The change was embarrassing and a deep stab at his pride. He half hoped that Smitty wouldn't answer the call. But alas! A groggy voice slurred out a half hearted hello and Jon knew that it was too late to turn back.

“Would you mind lending me your notes?”

“On?”

“Fractures.”

There was an interesting sound that sorta mimicked polyester fabric rubbing against itself but also newspaper crumpling. Then, something small and presumably glass broke and the other let out a rushed curse word that was half “fuck” and half “goddamn it” and half “shit” to become “god fucked shit.” Jonathan held back the urge to laugh at the other’s current misfortune. The seconds of silence that proceeded ticked by until they morphed into minutes. 

“Ok! Sorry about that. Do you want me to text them to you or do you want the physical copy?”

"Text, please.”

“You got it,” there were more interesting sounds that Jonathan could only assume was an animal in a hyper state bugging the poor boy about something. He could hear frantic clicking of tiny nails skittering about a hard floor. He smiled at the thought. He wouldn't mind having an animal companion. He wanted a small dog and name it Mom so he could bitch about how “Mom peed on the couch,” or how “Mom got out of the apartment and now I can't find her,” or “I have to get a muzzle for mom because she refuses to play nice with others.” Just silly things like that. Maybe he'd get a dog. 

His phone then proceeded to buzz more times than he could count, and not because he couldn't count that high, but because he got lazy after seven. He looked down to see just how many notes had been sent and frowned at the rapidly increasing notification on his phone. Finally, after one hundred and twenty seven little chimes, they stopped.

“I think that's all of them. Hope that helps!”

Jonathan scrolled through the pictures feeling disheartened. He sighed and answered affirmatively before hanging up. He pulled the X-ray closer to him and hunkered down in his seat.

“Alright, Ohm, what bullshit kind of fracture is this?”

Jonathan was not the only one awake and studying. While their loved ones were away, Brock and Luke we're more than happy to sit down together and wait. Marcel had been called down to assist with an autopsy, the body he had to embomb was the son of the usual man who did these things. Unable to do it himself, he called on an old friend to help him. 

Brock’s living room looked like a drunk plant sprite threw up everywhere. He was very proud of it. Three out of four walls were almost entirely windows and they were decorated (without order or reason) with thriving green plants from ceiling to floor. It was an alarming and overwhelming sight for those first walking in on it. But Luke was no stranger to the plants. While he didn't exactly agree with Brock’s choice of decoration, he did grow to greatly enjoy the green room, as they called it. 

He was seated as far away from the ivy as he could possibly get. He'd spotted a spider hiding amongst them earlier and wasn't about to fuck with that. He watched Brock sit besides the infested plant and was silently amazed. What a brave man. 

“I looked over everything Smitty got out of the spine. He wasn't able to fully gather what Jonathan could have, but it's still useful.”

“Are we really going to talk about work right now?” Luke interrupted. He cocked an eyebrow and gave a suggestive grin. Brock looked bewildered. When he finally understood what it was that Luke was hinting at, he scoffed.

“Yes, what else would we discuss?”

“We can just shoot the breeze. You know, hang out like friends do. Wouldn't that be nice for a change?”

“We shoot the breeze instead of work all the time, what are you talking about?”

Luke rolled his eyes and adjusted himself, “I'm talking about how Evan and I have plane tickets to Greece. We leave in two months. I'm talking about how so much is happening and none of us are talking about it. Like you. When the fuck are you going to propose?”

“We've talked about this. Soon, I promise. I have dates planned out and a place and everything. I'm asking him July 17th, on the day that we first started dating. I've got sappy music picked out and dinner ready to go. I'm ready, I'm just waiting for the world to be ready too.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open. His cheeks hurt from trying to smile at the same time. He could almost see the whole thing perfectly. He could picture Brock proudly declaring his love to a blushing Marcel. The word yes would never again get spoken so fast so eagerly again. Not even at the wedding. It would be the second best day of their lives. 

He chuckled thinking back on his own magical day. Evan had been the one to propose to him. Luke thought he never would. He was certain that between the two of them, he'd have to make the first move again. Then Evan came out of the blue and surprised him by dragging him out to a wide open field and looking up at the stars before telling him in intricate detail how the sky looked the night he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Luke seconds before asking if Luke was willing to forever be the stars in Evan’s night skies, sun in Evan’s bright days, and shelter in the storms. It was sappy, and Evan had been so nervous that he stuttered through every word, and still the memory of it brought endless smiled to Luke’s face. 

“Wedding theme?”

“Spring. I want it done on the beach, but I have sand. I didn't want this giant cake, but like a tower of cup cakes of all different flavors. And and ice cream cake. Yes! Beyond that, I have no idea.” 

“Evan and I can help you out with the rest. Give you some names, ideas, whatever you need, we’re here.” 

Brick grinned. He loved the people he had in his life. They were all so kind and magical. It almost felt as if his life was a work of fiction poorly written by a high schooler who, due to age and experience, had no idea what on Earth went down at weddings or what was romantic for that matter. Was that thought specific? Yes, but not specific enough. It all felt too perfect to be real, that's how he felt, but he wouldn't change it for the world. 

And as pleasant as discussing the bright and brilliant future was, Brock was no stranger to the fact that he was forced to live in the present. And presently, they had a case to solve and now somewhere to start. 

“Our computer system is still being an annoying piece of shit. I'm learning how to fix it here. But for now, I ran some numbers to see what kind of force would be required to cause such markings,” he began again, moving to show Like all that he'd found on his day off. 

Luke shook his head, Brock never did know how to take a break. One of these days, it would be the death of him. He hoped to God that he'd never see that day come. 

He begrudgingly got up to follow Brock and finally get some answers to this bullshit. Brock had set everything up in his home office. The place was a disaster, and finding any place to get anything done had been a challenge Brock didn't think he'd actually complete. He was satisfied with how the end results looked. They were shitty, yeah, but it was better than what had been before. And that was enough for him. 

“The way the spine was bent,” he paused to pinpoint where exactly it was that he meant, “I made a bold and dangerous assumption that it had been forced that way post mortem and had Smitty check me to see if I was right. And much to my surprise, I was.” 

Luke leaned over to see where it was Brock was getting at. He could spot it nearly instantly once it was brought to his attention. Brock had splayed out diagrams of what he'd been trying to work on, possible scenarios. He quickly redirected Luke’s attention to his home computer.

“The way it's bent still bothered me. Look at where the neck was removed. It's bent too. Like they were trying to force her into something and she just wouldn't fit.” He played a small animation and stood back so that Luke could see it all.

The animation was simple. An unknown figure took the deceased and was placing them in a box. To the side were several numbers based on the strange curvature, the victim’s height, and weight to help determine the size of the container in which she was forced. At the time, she still had her legs and head. It was evident that she wasn't fitting. She was removed. 

“This starts the bending. Now, seeing that she won't fit, they do as Cinderella’s step sisters do and start cutting things to make her fit.”

“I thought they just broke the shoe?”

“No. In the original story they cut off their toes and heels. But this guy doesn't cut off toes and heels, he removed her head.”

And off her head went, the found ax now swung into the picture and struggled to complete the action. The body was again stuffed into the box and again there was great amounts of struggling.

“The cut off her legs next,” Brock explained as the body got maneuvered and the legs also removed, a struggle still persisting,” and her clothing fabric starts fighting, so they remove that too.” Luke watched as the original woman in the animation became the remains they now had. “They stuff the head in because it fits and leave.”

“So where is her clothing and where are her legs?”

“Seeing as she was poorly hidden and not found in a container, probably with that somewhere.”

Luke nodded. Hiding a body in two spots instead of one was a smart move. He hated it when killers were smart. They caused a lot of trouble. They were a harder bunch to catch and rarely did they're scientific cases hold up too well in court. It was a battle hard fought and exhausting. Luke wasn't looking forward to this. 

“So we’re looking for her legs, the thing she got transported in, and her cloths.”

“We're looking for the second dump site, yes.”

“Is there any way to figure out where to start?”

“There is, and we’re waiting on Craigslist for that.”

“Why?”

“Because the plants he found are from the first dump site.” 

Luke suddenly felt a wave of joy course through his views. This was getting interesting. And here he'd thought it was going to be just another druggie case. How wrong he'd been. With some luck and good work, they'd have this solved in no time and then he could go back to the real problem. 

“So how long do you gauge we’ll have to wait?”

“Not long. Craig never was one who could sit still. He’s picking Smitty up after lunch to finish what they started. We should have results in three days or less.”

He could handle that. That was good. He believed that despite how poorly Craig and Smitty appeared to work together, that they'd manage to do the impossible and pull through. He pulled away from the computer satisfied and happier than he'd been in a while. 

“And here I thought you brought me over for some bad news.”

Brock shrugged. He, too, was happy. Having gotten the good news and all its abundances off of his chest, he was quite content with spending the rest of his day destroying Luke in every game known to man from Life, to Sorry, to Candyland. 

While these two played the day away, their beloved were busy at work. Marcel had finished with his embalming and was now seated with the usual doctor he'd covered for. The man stared vacantly into the room that held his son paired with the suffocating smell of formaldehyde. Every now and again a stream of tears would run down his cheeks and he'd make no move to rid himself of them. His son had been unfortunate enough to have developed lung cancer. He beat it once, then it came back. He died shortly after catching a case of Measles while going in for what was supposed to be the last of he chemotherapy. The doctors had been confident in his full recovery. 

“It's amazing. One second he's there and laughing and you don't think anything could change that. Now I'm.never going to get any more calls from him. All because of measles.”

Marcel was quiet. He never did know what to say about these sorts of things. He found that sometimes silence was the best answer he could give. He left to let his friend grieve in peace, knowing full well that should he be needed again that he'd get a call and he'd be there. For now, he excused himself to do some thinking of his own. 

Tragic accidents happened all the time and no thanks to his line of work he'd seen the bitter end of many. He had a small office sectioned off from the rest of the testing ward for diseases and was grateful that he'd only had to use it four times out of the several years he'd been working there. He'd dealt with many strange viruses in college though, the measles being one of them. He knew it could kill infants and the elderly, but that poor man was barely twenty. He was still just a kid. He'd beaten cancer! He was going to do so again, and he lost to the measles. 

He suddenly became all too aware of every disease and infection he had studied. He'd spent many nights awake and in fear of what those around him could be carrying. He could feel the unwanted itch of that old fear creeping back into his mind. He shuddered. He wanted to get detoxed as soon as humanly possible. He knew just the place to do so. 

He’d yelled at many of his employees that the Marsh was for work related reasons only, more so with Craig than any of the others, but who was going to yell at him? His boss was currently in Hawaii enjoying the sun with her kids. 

Knowing that there was no one to stop him, Marvel giggled like a child and fled back to the Marsh. Now would be a fantastic opportunity to gather some research for his own studies. Believe it or not, this was far from the job he'd gone to college for. He wanted to be in the room where everyone wore biohazard suits and fucked around with diseases to see what kills them. He wanted to help find the cures to the common flu, or treatments for cancer. He wants to be the hero no one talks about but relied on even after he was long dead and gone. Things just didn't play out the way he thought they would. Wrapped up in a murder case from day one, he found himself rapidly climbing the ladder of success to plant himself where he was now. That seemed so long ago. And whole dust now coated those age old memories, the want to help people still beat strong in his veins. 

The intruder stopped his strumming when he heard another suddenly join him. He rushed in a fit of panic to flee out of sight before he got caught. He watched from the safety of Craig’s bug room, or zoo rather, as Marcel saw himself to his own room. Uh oh. 

Marcel pulled out his microscope and cleared a small spot to start his work. He buzzed with excitement. He hadn't played with illnesses in so long. They called to him. There was something else, too that called. Marcel froze. He stared down at the gathered materials. Studying things he already understood seemed sorta pointless unless he could apply them in some way. He glanced towards his fridge where the victim’s organs still lay. Why hadn't he thought of this before? He moved as if in a trance towards the fridge and removed the stomach and spleen, the two places that held the most information on possible illnesses. He could only hope that the collapsed stomach hadn't killed everything yet. Doubting he'd find anything, he began to test the tissues, taking small samples and inspecting them. While the stomach offered nothing new, the spleen gave way to an entire plethora of problems. He cursed quietly under his breath.

If she hadn't overdosed, Minx would have gotten very sick. Her body had been producing white blood cells as if it was going to war. But why? He shifted through organ after organ and finally he stopped at the lungs where the inner pockets were all coated in mucus. Mono. Minx was getting sick with mono. Interesting.

His thoughts got interrupted by the sudden chime of his phone. He excused himself from his equipment and answered the phone. There were a select few he ever answered his phone for while working, the exceptions being Brock, Tyler, Ohm, Evan, Craig, and Smitty. This was none of the above, but a small catering service he'd been expecting to hear back from. His booking for the gazebo was confirmed, the lights ready, and the small band already paid for. Everything was ready and waiting for July 17th. He just hoped he and Brock would be too.


	13. Thirteen

There's a small bar a couple miles north that sits where the hills kiss the mountain’s feet and the sun turns the smog a brilliant and painting shade or red that Craig enjoys. It's several miles beyond anything he was willing to drive to, but that would never stop him. Not once in a million years. That particular, small, no name bar had the one thing no other bar in the whole wide world had. A specific bartender who'd recently moved into the states. 

Chug N’ Grub wasn't the cleanest bar. It smelled thickly of cheap cigarettes and sweat. The drinks sucked ass but we're cheap enough for patrons to forget about that. There were seven people there. Half were crowded around a broken pool table and all were mumbling incoherently. The vibe this place gave off was something Craig could only describe as simply “off putting.” He made it a point to avoid the group as best as he possibly could. 

He took a sweep of the old place and frowned at the sight, or better, at the lacking sight of a man roughly five foot eleven with dyed auburn hair and a goofy grin. He glanced down at his phone with a frown. He worked today didn't he? No, no he didn't. Craig cursed to himself and waved the current bartender over before placing the quick request for a cheap drink to satisfy him for a moment. He would call up an Uber and get a long and expensive ride home and text Brian about how unhappy his little excapade had been.

The bartender handed over some sorry excuse for an alcoholic beverage and promptly left to clean the bathrooms. Craig was left alone with the chattering pool players and the staticy music that couldn't be understood through the broken speakers placed randomly about. He suddenly felt about as out of place as a cat at a dog park. He downed the entire drink in one gulp and instantly regret it. He frowned at the thought that he'd had to devour nearly seven more to get wasted enough to tolerate it. Was that worth it? Was it really? No. Disappointed and embarrassed, he got up to leave. 

He watched one of the poolplayers sigh with great annoyance and storm off to the counter. They made eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time. Craig cursed to himself. This meant, according to the rules of socializing, that they now had to exchange some simple dialogue. He sent a fast prayer up to God that Brian would walk right through those ugly doors and rescue him from unnecessary human interactions. He wasn't drunk enough for this. He wasn't drunk at all! But alas, if there was a god, he wasn't answering as he was probably busy with something else, and Craig was trapped in the stupid social interaction with no irish prince charming to come save him in sight.

“You all good?” There, that was good! A simple yes or no answer that he could ignore anything else about. The man rolled his eyes and Craig wished he never asked the simple question.

“Where do I begin?”

Don't, thought Craig aggressively, fucking-just don't! Please! He cast a glance over to the doors the bartender had vanished through some off minutes ago. Still gone. Damn it! The man sat down and gestured for Craig to do the same. Craig snuck his phone free from his pocket and quickly began hunting down any lyfts or Ubers available to him before taking an unwanted seat besides the stranger.

“I’m swimming in a colossal pool of shit right now and it's only getting worse.” 

Oh good, a lyft would be there in about seventeen minutes. Good God, he could only hope that Cody in some green sedan wouldn't get delayed for any reason. He sat and pretended to listen to the man besides him ramble off his list of problems. He heard every word and had responded accordingly, but not one word of any of what had been said actually made it into his brain to be filtered. Not until the man put his head in his hands for a moment and promptly asked, “I don't know what do you think I should do?”

Oh boy. What had he said earlier? Uh...something about a weird job, um something about drugs, and another boy who he was looking out for who's gotten into trouble all because of him. What possible advice could he muster up that somehow wrapped all of that up? As the seconds passed, he felt the tension rise. 

“I think,” he began. His mind was blank and he wanted to scream and just run but the Lyft was still seven minutes away, “That you need to focus less on work and more on those in your life that you love. Do what you need to help them first.”

That sounded safe and relevant. The man smiled after a second and nodded. Craig was astounded. He doubted that he made any sense at all. Still the man made several small agreements primarily to himself.

“You know what? You're a good man, let me buy you a drink.” 

No! Shit. The bartender returned and smiled warmly at the new man at the bar. “Shawn, nice to see you again! And here I thought Zero would have stolen you away by now.”

“Unfortunately, I have to stay behind and cover her tracks.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I'm not. It gives me time to grab the kid and get him out of any new harm. He was supposed to meet me here tonight about two hours ago. With everything that's going on, I'm really worried but I can't leave in case he does finally show up.” 

Wait what? What did Craig miss? Who knew and who cared. The bartender set down two drinks. Craig thanked the stranger before taking a sip of his. He then ignored anything and everything else between the bartender and stranger and watched his ride inch closer at the agonizingly slow pace. How the fuck did seven minutes become twelve? Was Cody getting lost? He hoped not. He took the drink unthinkingly and gulped as much as he could. 

“Oh, wait! That was, that was mine sir,” The stranger quickly tried to interject. The bartender giggled lightly and shook his head to show that this mix up wasn't a problem. 

“Let him have them both, I'll get you a fresh mix and it's on me, Shawn.”

“I mean, it's fine, I'm just sick and didn't want him to get anything…”

Craig couldn't be more embarrassed. He uttered a quick apology and darted outside to wait alone for Cody to come pick him up. At least outside, he wouldn't be capable of doing anything else socially stupid. He hoped. He couldn't have been any happier when Cody with the green sedan finally showed up. 

Just as Tyler couldn't have been happier than when he woke up to find Ohm by his side, snuggled up close and against him. He smiled and pulled the other closer. The stillness of everything settled and for the first time this week he felt like everything was going to be alright. He glanced at his phone laying on his nightstand besides a small plate of snacks Ohm had to have brought up before collapsing. He friend at the seven hundred texts he'd gotten while he'd been asleep. He begrudgingly began to shift through everything. 

Seventeen congratulations from fellow agents. Nineteen threats from fellow agents. Ninety four requests for clearance from lower ranking agents, six messages from distant family members saying sorry for the loss, four messages from his lawyer, three from the Marsh’s lawyer's sister who was growing increasingly more worried with every passing day, and the rest were from the nerds at the nerd HQ. 

Apparently, Craig and Smitty we're back out in the field hunting down those sister plants. Marcel had found evidence that the deceased was sick with mono and they should be on the lookout for any suspect recently sick with mono themselves, or getting sick. Aside from that, he and Ohm had interrogated Sinow and made some agreements and we're now just looking to interrogate Ritz and Doxy. He'd sent out two other agents to flag them both down and hadn't heard back yet. Ritz was said to be in the area and capable of being contacted at any given moment, an agent was currently with him, but Doxy was nowhere to be found. She was their main priority at the second. 

Tyler goraned. He wasn't looking forward to the man hunt in the slightest nor the paperwork that was bound to come with it. He set his phone off to the side glad to be finally free of the business and stupidity and others. Now wasn't the time to worry about that. Now was the time to worry about why it was so damn cold in their room. Now was the time to worry about if Ohm had eaten anything yet today. Now was the time to worry about the last time the dogs got let out. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ohm’s temple and carefully peeked himself away from his side. He was quick to replace himself with his pillow and watched as Ohm instinctively reached about blinding for the fleeting warmth of his lover, settling sadly for the offered pillow all without ever waking from his own slumber. Tyler grinned, satisfied with the sight. 

He then gently woke up the dogs. Kino cast a glare that spoke to Tyler on a level beyond what he fully understood. He knew only that his dog was too tired to get up and anything that tried to force him to do so anyway was going to get bit. Buddy, on the other hand, got to his old feet and obediently hopped off the bed roughly eighty times talked than he was without any complaint. The old dog was seated by the back door before Tyler was even down the stairs. 

He watched the old dog trot off to the soft patches of grass the summers heat had yet to kill before turning to get breakfast going. The second he opened up the fridge he could hear Kino launch himself off of the bed, waking Ohm in the process. The dog excitedly tumbled down the stairs and plopped down two feet away from Tyler in great anticipation. The dog was a smart one, he knew where the bacon came from. He knew where these humans kept the cheese and the best treats. He wagged his tail and whined, unable to understand why Tyler hadn’t given him anything yet. He barked, angry that treats we're taking so long to be administered. Tyler rolled his eyes at the stubborn pup and moved to let him out. But Kino would not budge from his spot. He wanted human food and he wasn’t going to leave until he got it. Buddy walked back inside and made his way back up the stairs without ever being noticed by the other two. 

Oh looked down at his feet in time to see his dog saunter on past. He peaked down the stairs and spotted Tyler standing impatiently in the door pointing as hard as he could at their dying lawn. Kino barked again. It greatly amused Ohm how these two were so alike. With this in mind he made his silent descent down the stairs, careful not to draw any attention to himself. He stopped when he was just out of Tyler’s line of sight. Then, very calmly, and with a slight song behind his voice, he spoke.

“Kino, outside.” 

The dog kept to his feet and walked out onto the porch almost as if he'd moved without a thought. He stopped once his tail cleared the door and looked back, surprised by his own movements. Tyler shut the door before he could undo what's been done. He then just stared down at the wood beneath his paws in utter disbelief. Why had he done that? 

Tyler shot Ohm a quick half hearted glare. He shook his head, “Why does he only listen to you now?”

“I guess he likes me more,” Ohm commented before taking Tyler’s previous position in front of the open fridge. 

Usually, Tyler would have protested up a storm. He would have told Ohm that he was the oneaking breakfast before ordering Ohm to either go back to he'd or find something worth while on TV. However, he was quiet in this instance. He watched the way his shirt slid over Ohm’s shoulders while simultaneously getting caught by his boxers elastic waistband. His arms were covered in small imprints from the sheets where he'd lain awkwardly for too long. Tyler could see the regrettable tattoo he'd gotten when he'd been drunk it of his mind and only 22 peaking out to say hello. He had the perfect view from where he was stood and there was no way in hell he was about to ruin that by sending it away. Ohm could cook today, he decided. 

Instead, Tyler chose to bother the poor man. Ohm pulled free several eggs, the half carton of milk in dire need of replacing, and the butter. He set them all down upon the counter and began to hunt down their measuring cups and mixing bowls. While he was distracted, Tyler moved to collect the gathered food items and put them all back. He hoped that Ohm hadn’t noticed him but when he turned around he met Ohm’s disapproving eyes. He had to hold back at laughing at how his boyfriend was too short to see into their upper cupboards so he'd had to climb on top of the counter. He pretended that he wasn't doing anything more than getting some juice. Oh wasn’t falling for it. He sighed heavily, setting the acquired dishes down and hopped off the counter to recollect the eggs and their friends. Tyler ran to grab the dishes and put them up even higher. 

“No! Damnit Tyler, put those back!” Ohm cried out, rushing to catch Tyler before he could succeed in his ornery ways. Unfortunately he'd been too late. There was nothing he could do but watch helplessly as the bowl containing everything was placed beyond out of reach. Tyler was giggling like an idiot all the while. 

Tyler caught sight of Ohm’s face and cackled maniacally, more than just pleased with his devious mischief. Ohm stared up at the now unobtainable dishware for a moment. Without ever taking his eyes off of them, he walked to the sink. Tyler watched curious to see how on earth the sink was going to help him. Before his own brain could conjure up any answers, a bolt of water caught him in the forehead. He frantically wiped the water out of his eyes and moved to take the spray hose out of Ohm’s hands. This tasked proved more difficult that he'd anticipated, as Ohm was an amazing shot and not the one blind at the time. Tyler was forced to retreat. The water stopped and Tyler was given the chance to clear the liquid from his eyes. Ohm kept the hose up and ready to fire again.

“Now, get those down, and retrieve the eggs, milk, and butter from the fridge,” he ordered with a level voice. 

Tyler begrudgingly moved to obey the given command. He placed the bowl back within reach and began taking out the eggs, one at a time, mind you, but he did as told nonetheless. 

“You are such a shit,” Ohm giggled, releasing his grip on the sink hose and moving to finally get started on breakfast. 

Tyler moved fast! He pulled Ohm over and then out of the way. He grabbed the very sink hose the other had been using only moments ago and an evil little grin slunk onto his face. Ohm looked more confused than Kino had some couple minutes ago. He turned to Tyler with a pitiful frown. He brought both hands into the air to show he had no way to defend himself. Or so Tyler thought. There was no warning given, only the last second sight of the flying egg that crippled on his shoulder. Ohm chuckled and took off running. The hose was no use beyond fifteen feet. But a cup was portable. 

Tyler darted off after Ohm. He turned the corner between the kitchen and the sitting room and froze. Oh was a grown man, there were very few places for any grown men to hide in their house at all. It scared Tyler to find that he couldn't spot his boyfriend at all. There wasn't anywhere for him to go and he didn't have enough time to slip into any other room. So where…?

“Oh, let's talk about this. If you give up now, I promise I'll only tickle torture you a little bit.”

Silence responded. Tyler frowned, that usually worked. Ohm was being brave. How adorable. His bravery would be punished for, this much they both knew. Tyler began circling the sitting room. His eyes jumped towards any signs of movement made. Most of it was the trees wavering outside or kino just ping wildly trying to get at the squirrel sat atop their fence. There was no sign of Ohm. 

“Come out~ you can't hide from me forever.” 

Apparently he could as he refused the demand and remained absolutely still. He forced back a giggle when Tyler walked past him. He wondered just how blind this highly trained man was before soundlessly inching back to the kitchen. He could very easily fight this fire with more fire. Once he was in the kitchen he froze. He could get a cup and fill it but Tyler would be on him in a second. He could try to get upstairs but they were loud and he was a clutz. He didn't think this through. Like at all. 

He shrugged and quietly began prepping breakfast. This way if Tyler did get him, he could use this as a weapon. Tyler was still pacing about in the living room dumbfounded on how anyone could hide in this damn room at all! He opened the closet and pushed aside every hanging coat and jacket he found. Nothing. Behind the couch? Nothing! He was nowhere! But how? 

Finally there came a sound, a soft and barely noticeable one. He turned on a dime and ran towards it. He liked his head around the corner and stared into the kitchen. He was at a complete list of words. Oh had managed to ready up some pancake mix and turned on the stove and only now had Tyler heard him no thanks to the cracking if an egg.

“Cheese and ham? Or would you rather have bacon bits this morning?” Ohm asked as if he'd forgotten enturly about their little game. 

“That's cheating,” Tyler declared. 

Ohm gave a dismissive wave of his hand and pointed to the fridge, “They're going to be bland if you don't pick soon.” 

Tyler gave in. Ohm won this time. For now. He'd pay later, but for now Tyler admit defeat. He reached I to the fridge to fetch the ham and cheese. Oh dismissed him again to set up the table, a task that was completed well before breakfast was done. Tyler hobbled back up stairs to fetch his phone and Ohm’s. When he returned, Ohm had managed to turn some simple ingredients into some shit seen only in food catalogs that were impossible to mimic. Everything looked almost plastic, too good to be true. That was when Tyler realized just how hungry he was. He took a seat and thanked Ohm as he passed with a quick slap to the ass. Both sat down to enjoy a tranquil meal.

“I'm going to go to the funeral and pick my sister up then. We have two days to get ready.”

“Consider it done. I'll have your old office cleared out before today's work shit is over, that ugly orange paint will be replaced, and I've bought a bed, dresser, and desk. I'll have that room child friendly by the time you two get back.”

Tyler smiled through a mouthful of eggs and pancakes. He swallowed everything much too soon as it hurt like hell going down but he was raised not to talk with a mouth full and he had several things he intended to say.

“It means a lot that you're helping me with this. Also, what do you mean ugly orange paint?”

“I mean that the paint in your office is exactly the color I think of when someone says puke! It's hideous!”

“It is not! You're just being mean.”

“Tyler, that color is so heinous, it physically hurts me to look at. It has to go. It's practically child abuse if it stays.” 

Tyler opened his mouth to argue further but prompt stopped himself. Now that he thought about it, it was ugly. It did have to go.   
Tyler was about to comment on how they would have to buy the girl school supplies and get ready to enroll her sometime soon but the words never got a chance to leave his mind when his phone began to buzz sporadically. He glanced down at the caller ID and answered it quickly. 

“Wilds. Whatchu got for me Thompson?”

“We found her legs. Her clothes, a suitcase and the sister plants!”

“That's fantastic, send me the location and I'll be over there in a bit.”

Craig glanced over to Smitty. The boy was stood over the mess they'd accidentally stumbled upon with the face of a man who's just found his home destroyed and his loved ones buried beneath the rubble. He'd never seen a more broken man before. At least he hadn't puked. Yet. There was still time he supposed. Tyler’s voice broke through to him once more, reminding him that he hadn't responded the last time. He muttered out a quick addresses and hung up before Tyler could get in anything else. Now wasn't the time for friendly conversations. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and moved to Smitty’s side. He placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the sight and into a hug.

“You doing ok?”

“It’s… You see things like this everyday?” Smitty asked, his voice muffled no thanks to his face being pressed into Craig’s chest. His own chest was growing tight. He was ok with the bones. He could handle the pictures. This? This was the first of thousands to haunt his dreams. 

“As awful as it sounds, it gets easier.”

Smitty couldn't imagine how. He'd been there for every cadaver dissection. He'd seen dead men. He'd seen the horrific murder cases. Only now was it all rapidly catching up to him. What terrified him more was that there were people out there capable of doing this to others. He suddenly felt all too dependant on Craig, as if letting him go would somehow turn him into what he now saw. He suppressed a needy whine when Craig parted from him to start marking things. That's right. This was work. He had a job to do. With a heavy heart, he reluctantly moved to help Craig, taking pictures and marking where they found blood. 

The second dump site was roughly seventeen miles away from the first, and nineteen Mike's away from the victim’s money filled and secret apartment. The legs hadn't been hidden like the head and torso had been. They'd been left in the wide open beneath a closed bridge due to the crumbling foundation. Craig looked about for any tire markings or drag marks for that matter. Any little disruption in the mud got his hopes up, but he found nothing conclusive. He could only picture that the suitcase, containing the legs and clothing, had been dumped from the dying bridge, the ones who done this were smart. He hated it. 

He gave a small cough and pushed the thought out of his mind with the arrival of a large truck. Tyler finally arrived. The team collected the rest of the remains, packed up, and took off, leaving Craig and Smitty to get back on their own. Now Craig wished that he had gotten drunk the night prior. Maybe it would have made today go by a little easier. Regardless, he was drinking heavily tonight. He pondered in inviting Smitty to drink with Jim, the kid was still too young, but damn did it look like he needed it, or at least something to take the edge off. Who gave a shot about the law anymore? He didn't take Smitty back to the Marsh. They went to the closest bar instead. He'd explain this to Marcel later, when he was sick with a hangover and unable to care anymore. Bit for now, they were going to forget the sight and enjoy a moment of bliss. They earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God I forgot to post this. I'm so sorry. Fourteen posts Wednesday, like it's supposed to. My bad guys


	14. Fourteen

With the rest of the body now found, Tyler had only one problem to deal with; finding Doxy. He was pleased to see that several news stations had put her face up with the request that if found, she was to be reported. Those things rarely worked but he had hope. It's hard to miss a pretty girl like her. She just had that face that calls for attention and admiration. Surly someone would see her and recognize her. He only hoped that it wasn't too late. When people want to, they can travel very far in a day. The unbearable traffic wasn't always enough to keep people in state. He knew that very well.

Still, a man hunt wasn't going to kick itself off just by some passer by spotting some girl wandering the streets by luck and chance. He drove about desperately trying to catch any word of the current suspect. With every second that she remained unreachable, the worse things were looking for her. He only hoped now that she had been the one who killed her boss just so that they weren't wasting ample amounts if time they didn't have. Days passed, however, and she remained unfound. 

Craig woke up groggy and unable to stop coughing. He'd developed the cough seemingly out of nowhere. He tried to think back to any irregular weather patterns or nights he'd accidentally left his cooler on, but none popped up. He'd taken more cold medicine than any pharmacy could legally allow. Regardless of what he did, his throat burned, his chest tightened, and he would cough and gag for hours on end. He could not longer get out of bed. He would know regularly awake to fevers jumping above and beyond what was healthy. Brian was getting more and more worried with every passing day. Finally, when Craig’s fever had remained above the 100 degree point, Brian ordered him to go to the doctor before he wound up dying. His argument behind this included a brief retelling of Osmosis Jones, but far more dramatic than it needed to be, and the mention of Craig’s death about nineteen hundred times. Craig got up just to shut Brian up at that point. 

Seeing a doctor was a challenge. Most were busy with firework accidents. Craig nearly forgot that the fourth was coming up in a few days now. Stupid people were about to overwhelm the poor hospitals and cops were going to be sent to patrol the mountains and fire risk places as if there was nothing else that mattered. 

After about seven hours of waiting, an exaggerated number Craig convinced himself was accurate, a doctor finally called him in to her office to see just what the actual fuck was wrong with him. The smell of the small doctor's office was one Craig was both all too familiar with and yet didn't know at all. He felt that it was missing the earthy scent of his bugs, or the awful smell of formaldehyde. Or Susan from HR’s perfume. Still it smelled like those rubbery gloves poor Smitty was allergic to, and the smell of the janitors sterilizer that he'd dumped on everything everyday like his life depended on it. It was home and yet a stranger's house all at once. 

He wasn't afraid of going to the doctor's. He didn't fear needles like some of his friends. He knew that doctors were there to help, not harm, for the most part, and he should have felt safe and well in this lovely lady’s hands. And yet he was surged with terror as her face scrunched up at the finding of an abnormality. Oh good, he thought, he's dying! She left and returned with some small tubes to hold the yet taken test samples. She swabbed the back of his throat. He had to back away to cough, resulting in his unintentional puking at which the doctor laughed at him for. She left and stayed gone for several very long minutes that Craig insisted were years in disguise then returned with the very quickly gathered results.

Marcel was perhaps the one awiting the arrest of Zero Doxy the most. All they needed were some easy to obtain test samples to proceed she'd been sick and they'd have their killer. That was it. It would take four hours max! It was such a simple need and here it was taking days on end without evidence of it ever ending. He wanted to rip his hair out and eat it as if it were some strange alien version of spaghetti and a delicacy in Italy. He felt that waiting for the phone to ring with Tyler on the other end proudly reporting that they found her would never come. And it didn't. 

The phone’s ring caught his attention more than it should have. And while it wasn't Tyler’s voice, hearing Evans was just as good if not better. 

“We found her. Do you think you can have our test prep ready by the time we get back?”

“It's waiting for you. Bring her in.” He couldn't stress that enough apparently. He hung up to show Evan just how tired of this game he really was. Evan got the point. 

He turned to the woman currently packed well and ready to flee state, hell the country if she could however no airport would let her through due to being on the federal watch list, her downfall was thinking she could fly her way out of here. She pleaded heavily. The entire trip back to the office was her constant cries about how she needed to go because her boyfriend was in trouble and she needed to be there for him. If Evan could only count how many times people in his custody tried to pull some shit like this. She then fell as silent as the grave for the rest of the ride. 

That unsettled Evan more than he could say. He suddenly wished he knew why she just stopped talking. Ohm would have spat some nonsense regarding that it's a silent admission of guilt. Perhaps it didn't exactly pertain to the murder, but she was definitely guilty of something. He eyed the woman through his rearview mirror worried that at any given moment she would start screaming or chanting. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it scared him. He suddenly wished he'd brought along a partner of sorts. But Tyler had been dragged back to his boss’s office to further discuss that promotion and Evan wasn't about to take someone he didn't know. Someone who wasn't assigned to this case. That would have been extra and unnecessary work. Still, if she attacked at random, he'd be helped to defend himself. 

He was careful when they finally made it to the offices. He kept her at an angle that she couldn't attack from. She wasn't a big woman, quite small actually, there wouldn't have been any physical way that she could have overpowered him, but Evan had once thought that Ohm was too small to overpower Tyler. He'd watched Ohm break out of a submission hold and then put Tyler in one instead, all within the same second. It had been the most impressive and terrifying thing Evan had ever witnessed. He learned that day to never underestimate who he was handling. Small things can be deadly too. 

That's why he was all too happy to have her finally safe and detained within the interrogation room, handcuffed to the table. He now only had to wait for someone to accompany him back inside. 

“Mono,” the doctor repeated to her sick patient. Craig had heard her, he just was startled. He couldn't think of knowing anyone else sick that could have infected him the bar! The guy at the bar said he was sick. He stole his drink by mistake. On the bright side, he should now start getting better, seeing as the doctor whipped him up some stronger medicines and a solid excuse to leave work for a bit. This could have been worse, he reminded himself. Then again, he would have preferred it if this had just been some strange stomach bug and he was finally getting over it. Unfortunately, Craig would suffer for another week or so. He would not be the only one. 

Ohm arrived within twenty minutes. He met Evan’s eye and the two wordlessly moved to interrogate the woman currently waiting for them. She shot them both a glare. This had gone on long enough for her and she was sick of it. She attempted to cross her arms to the best of her abilities, however the cuff around her wrist stopped her from effectively doing so. More irritated than she was a couple seconds ago, she let out a hefty huff and rolled her eyes. She'd been expecting Evan, sure, but where was the big one? The one that stumbled upon the beating accidentally while looking for the tiny intern? Who the fuck was this?

Ohm stood away from the special agent and watched the exchange. Her body language told a lot. More than her scrunched up face could. The way she slouched away from them wasn't normal. She was positioned as if she was trying to let out a fart that had been bothering her for far too long. But not quite. There was more sass behind it. More anger. This was an inconvenience, but barely anything more. This wasn't guilt, this was something else. He shot Evan a curious look. 

Evan took a seat and quickly showed Zero the paperwork proving that they had acquired the appropriate warrants for this holding. She didn't so much as glance at them. She watched Evan as if he was some boring Viagra commercial she couldn't skip. She corrected her posture and leaned forward with a slt smile gracing her lips. 

“I'm not saying shit until I speak to my lawyer.” 

Ohm huffed and promptly left the room. Evan felt a surge of panic. They really didn't have room to delay this case any further than it ready had been. He smacked his lips, agreed to Zero’s terms, and followed after Ohm. Doxy thought that she was angry? Evan was pissed. 

“Well now what?” 

“We get her the damn lawyer! That's the legal requirement at this point. Unless…”

Evan rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what Oh was plotting but he hoped to God it was going to work. If it didn't, he could consider any and all future collaborations with the doctor done and over with. 

“We don't need a lawyer to follow through with the tests. We have our warrant. Legally, she needs to follow through. If and when she tests back positive for mono, we know we have her, we can bypass the whole lawyer thing on that alone. She’ll get her lawyer then, when she's on trial. That works better for us anyway.”

Evan smiled at that news. What we're they doing waiting out in the hall for then? He turned to go back inside when Ohm stopped him.

“It's not her though.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's not her.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

Ohm didn't know how to voice his thoughts. It was in the way she challan ged Evan with her eyes. How she bit her lip in anticipation. She knew what she was doing and she knew from the beginning that no matter her stance, she'd win this. That was way too much confidence for someone pissed off only seconds before. Still, unable to appropriately put that into coherent speech that others could understand, he simply shrugged.

“I just do.”

Evan couldn't rely on “I just do” as an answer. He needed proof. He sighed heavily and entered the room to explain what was about to happen. It was no surprise to Oh when she readily agreed to the tests and got up without a fight. He shot Evan a look that very simple and subtly said ,”I told you so.” Evan ignored it. This proved nothing. 

Ohm decided it proved everything. He watched Evan escort the poor woman to the nearest bathroom and excused himself back over to his office. He shifted through his phone of saved numbers specifically for the current case until he found Ritz’s. He called him up, kept his tone light and friendly. The hesitation behind the other man’s agreement practically confirmed his suspicions. And with that settled, he called up Tyler with the polite request that he help pick up the suspect. He then sat back and waited patiently for everything to prove itself just how he expected it to. 

Evan sent the samples back to the Marsh with Ohm, who had claimed that he needed to meet up with Jon. He sent Doxy back into the room to wait for her lawyer. He then moved to sulk in Tyler's current office.

When he'd first been assigned to work with Tyler, the room had been coated with posters and pictures. He'd seen Tyler's entire likes and interests displayed behind a thin layer of glass. His desk was crowded with unfinished paperwork and paperweights he'd ordered online. It almost looked like a teenager’s room. Tyler refused to let anyone touch anything too. Well, almost anyone. The one time Evan had seen Tyler sit back and allow someone touching something was when it had been a child no older than four.

The babe’s mother had been the victim during that case. He had only his older brother to care for him after her untimely death. He'd witnessed the murder, the tram shocked him into an acute state of muteness. Ohm had insisted that the boy would talk to Tyler. Neither Evan nor Tyler believed him at the moment, but Ohm had been out the door before they could tell him so. The boy stood still in the door, intimidated and yet wonderstruck by all that he saw. Suddenly the big bad agent was a kid just like him who liked cartoons and action figures. The boy walked around and smiled at all that he saw. Tyler, in a pure fit of panic, began naming everything the kid saw. Finally the boy picked up a hand built model of the DeLorean DMC-12. The boy then quietly informed Tyler that he liked back to the Future. He'd seen it at a drive through movie theater with his mom not so much as a month before she'd been murdered. He told Tyler everything. It had astounded both investigators that this worked at all. 

“How'd you know he'd talk to Tyler?” He'd asked.

“I just knew.” 

That was always his answer. Of course it normally followed several seconds if a deep look strawn about his face and silence, but after all these years that answer never changed, and he was never wrong. 

Evan looked about the room now and friend at the sight. There were faded spots on the walls that once surrounded the hanging posters and pictures. His shelves were empty of all the old collectables. He could still see their ghosts in the dust that coated everything. It wasn't Tyler’s office any more. It was going to someone else. Tyler was moving up in the world. He took a defeated seat in the worn leather chair. So many things were changing and he didn't know how to feel about it. He shut his eyes in an attempt to shit out the thoughts that suddenly rushed him. Before he knew it, hours had passed and Tyler was loudly yelling for him to wake up. He cracked open an eye in time to see the giant man flee from his soon to be old office and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

Doxy was still seated in the interrogation room. Her lawyer had joined her. Evan was nearly certain that they were about to go in and start with the questioning, so he was all too surprised when Tyler caught him by his collar and dragged him over to Ohm’s office.

“Wait, don't we need to-”

“Ohm insists that this Ritz guy did it. Just to shut him up let's go talk to him. Let Zero finish up her discussion with her lawyer. Don't be a dick. Blah blah blah. Oh the things I do for love.”

“Tyler,” Evan said with growing concern, “this is your job.”

“Yes. And?”

“You don't do your job for love.”

“Maybe you don't. I apparently have to.” 

Evan stopped to mull that over for a second. He figured maybe he didn't actually want to. If their relationship lasted, it was going to be a fucking miracle. He gave them two more weeks at most. He was happy to forget the subject when they entered the cozy and largely exposed office. 

“Ritz,” Evan greeted in a deadpanned tone.

“Shawn. Ritz is a stage name.” Evan nodded and took his seat. He just wanted this to be done and over with. 

“June 17th, you carpooled with Doxy and Sinow, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Ritz answered hesitantly.

“Doxy dropped Sinow off and then what happened?”

“She took me home then she went home.”

“Nothing else happened?” 

Ritz shook his head. Well looky here. Mr. “I just know” was wrong! What a waste of time. He turned to Tyler, completely satisfied with how this went but froze when he saw the face Tyler was making. 

“Were you aware of Minx’s drug usage?” Ritz nodded. “Were you aware that she was also a dealer of illegal substances?” Again he nodded. “Were you aware that Sinow also helped deal the drugs?”

There was an uncomfortable amount if stillness that followed the question. Evan’s heart sank. Ritz slowly nodded. Oh no. Tyler sighed and finally took his seat besides Evan.

“When did you find that all out?”

Ritz was thoughtful. Half of him wanted to request a lawyer, the rest of him knew that at this point, there was nothing he could do. He cleared his throat and tasted the words on his tongue before actually speaking them.

“Doxy discovered that the druggies we kept removing kept coming back. One asked for Minx, claiming that she was his dealer. We figured he was lying and sent him on his way. Then three more came with the same claim. Doxy and I knew that something was up. I knew doxy was a their and yet despite her little pocketing, we always had more money than what we should have. A lot more money. We confronted her and she came forward with it. She threatened to fire us if we said anything. So we kept quiet.”

“What about when you learned she was a user?”

“Sinow found her passed out in her own car after hours. He got concerned for her, thinking she and Krism had a fight and she'd slept in her car, so he asked her about it. She was still too high to activate her already poor verbal filter and told him that she’d must have passed out after...Sinow told us. Then she started getting angry and violent. We avoided her as best as we could. It didn't help. She attacked Doxy.” 

Tyler was doing his best to scribble down everything the stripper was saying. The important parts at least. He needed something for Ohm to review during the case. He set his pen down and glanced at Evan. His partner seemed far more invested in the sob story that he was.

“Why did Sinow start selling with her but not you and Doxy?”

“Sinow’s in college. He's stripping to help pay off loans and debt. He's just trying to get by. He's a good kid and very intelligent, but one can only do so much before money becomes too much of an issue. He was struggling, bad. Doxy and I tried to help him out when we could but it was never enough. Minx found a solution. What ever he sold, he could keep the money. He was too broke not to accept the deal.”

Evan picked up on how quickly Ritz’s tone shifted in that last explanation from the others. Previously, he explained the situation the way a man retells a sad story to his therapist. Now he spoke through grit teeth and he sat rigid. Odd.

“That upset you?”

“Yeah. It upset both of us. Sinow’s a good kid. He's sarcastic and he can be a shit head, but he's a good kid. And the people Minx dealt to, they were violent people. At first we were just weary. We let it slide. He needed the cash and we just wanted him to be able to afford food again. But he got stabbed and we got angry. We told Minx that she needed to let Sinow go. She refused.”

“Why did she refuse?”

“He was good for business. She said she'd made the most sale's when he was helping her. Blamed it on his cute face. She threatened our jobs again and we stayed quiet, but not because if our jobs. We wanted to be there as a safety net the kid could fall back in when things went wrong. He's a good kid.”

“So you've said,” Tyler interrupted. He was more disgruntled than Evan had been mere minutes ago. And here he'd thought Doxy had caused so much trouble. 

“Ritz, what happened on June 17th, around 2 am?”

Ritz rubbed his arm anxiously beneath the table. He needed a lawyer, he knew he needed a lawyer, but at this point what good would that do? He'd trapped himself in a corner. He never should have said anything.

“We had enough of how she used Sinow. We just wanted to talk. So we dropped him off and we followed Minx home after she'd finished selling her day’s supply. She didn't go home, not to to Krism’s place. She went to this shitty old apartment off of Tamarac. We followed her inside. She was dead by the time we got passed the door. We panicked. We broke in, we knew that if we called the cops we'd be the first ones they'd suspect. We decided that maybe it was best that we just got rid of her. If we did things differently than what they do on TV then we wouldn't get caught. Doxy formulated the plan, I did the dirty work. We got rid of her body, took the rest of her supply, and burned it. She kept it in a small shoe box. The remains of that’s in my basement.”

“I think that counts as a confession,” Tyler groaned. He got up to fetch the papers saying so. He froze before so much as fully leaving his seat. “You should have just called the damn cops.” And with that, he left.

Evan stared at Ritz in astonishment. All if this because of a college student. Said college student would now be living in a fairly comfortable life away from danger. This whole case was messy and no one was really to fault. He almost pitied the man in front of him. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” 

Ritz didn’t respond. He hung his head and grumbled a soft, “I'm glad she's dead. Caused more trouble than she was worth.” 

Evan didn't have the heart to inform the man that hiding the body also caused more damage than what it was worth. He left the room and with it Ritz. He found Tyler in the halls fighting with the copy machine. 

“So we can't get them for murder considering how she essentially killed herself. What are we charging them for?”

“Evan, what the fuck do you mean 'what are we charging them for?’ Tampering with evidence, mutilation of a corpse, stalking, breaking and entering, the list goes on. They're not in trial for murder, but they've got a whole list of crimes we can charge them for.” 

Evan was quiet. This case had been really...unsatisfying. Was that the right word? Maybe it would have been if he was a psychopath, but it wasn't that at all. At least it was over. He could go home to his loving husband and finally relax until another murder interrupted his life. He pat Tyler on the shoulder, a motion of goodbye. 

The night ended with Doxy and Ritz doomed to spend some long years behind bars. Luke had Evan curled up with him on the couch lazily listing off possible things they could eat for breakfast tomorrow, a conversation that had started around lunch that day. Hours had passed and they'd still yet to decide on anything. Luke swore that he would spend the whole night smothering Evan with kisses until he gave in, even if it killed them both. It didn't work as both passed out not even ten minutes later. Tyler had come home to find his old home office was empty and ready to be repainted. Ohm was struggling to find new homes for all of the removed clutter. Craig’s fever finally started to let up, still he bitched like a baby and forced an exhausted but dedicated Brian to care for him. 

In a city run rampid with crimes, that night was primarily quiet. For once! Still, even in the silence, evil bleeds. It must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more...


	15. Fifteen

Tyler subconsciously rubbed his leg up against the warm mass besides him. He hoped to God that it wasn't one of the dogs. Then again, they'd probably think he was just petting them. His worries subsided when he heard the man besides him give out an aggravated groan. 

“That hurts, Tyler, stop it.” 

He cracked open an eye to see why that was hurting the other. It shouldn't have. He wasn't putting any real force behind his movements and he was wearing socks, so there’d be no complaining about sharp toenails. He glanced down and saw that both had tangled themselves up pretty badly. That's what they got for falling asleep instantly after wrestling around like the toddlers they were. Tyler couldn't even remember what had kicked off their exhausting bout of holding each other down in odd positions. He knew it had something to do with the game ‘keep away’ and a small electronic device. Was it the remote? A phone? A charger? He couldn't recall. He just remembered that he'd won when Ohm laughed so hard he actually passed out. Tyler thought he’d killed him. 

Now they lay in a heap of limbs. How they had remained sleeping so soundly while tangled so thoroughly was beyond them both. Tyler moved his leg away from Ohm’s squished neck and struggled to free them both without causing any more harm. This tasked proved to be more difficult that he wanted to admit. It didn't help when Ohm tried assisting in this mission. Both nearly would up throwing the other onto the floor. Finally, they'd broken free.

Tyler got up with an agonized cry of pain. His neck and back did not like him at all. He hoped that stretching would fix that, but alas, such was not to be the case. The exact opposite happened, actually. A shity start of what he could already tell was going to be a really shitty day.

“I have to go to my grandmother's funeral today. I'm coming back with Sophie. Think you’ll have her room livable by then?”

Ohm cocked an eyebrow, astounded that Tyler could assume otherwise. He was more offended that he'd been asked at all. He almost wanted to spite Tyler and start all over again. However, he thought about the poor girl and how she might not appreciate that. For her sake, he decided against spiting Tyler. For now. 

“I'll even have dinner ready by then. How does homemade deep dish pizza sound?”

Tyler gimmanced, “Not if you're making it.” 

“Wow. Ok. Hope you haven't burned down any bridges with your left hand because that's all you get for the next month!”

“What? No, that's not fair! You can't trade your shitty pizza for sex! Where's the justice in that?”

“A month!” Ohm repeated, taking a fist full of blankets and rolling over. Tyler could not physically roll his eyes in the extent that he wanted to. Damn did he try though. 

“Oh sure. You try and ground me from you. You and I both know which of us is the hornier one. You'll unground me before I even get home!”

He turned to see if Ohm was listening. He was looking forward to see the other man’s cheeks flushed pink, a sign that not only was Tyler right, but he'd managed to work up some sinful thoughts. He was disappointed but not surprised when he realized that Ohm was softly snoring again. 

Having no further need to bother the other man, Tyler got ready and headed out. He wasn't at all looking forward to the drive he'd have to make. It was hot and his black clothes made the already intense heat worse. Slowly, the smog wall grew distant and he'd left California far behind. He watched cities come and go. Vast fields lay on as far as the eyes could see. He could smell the cow shit already and he'd yet to actually spot any cows.

Suddenly he wasn't in his truck going 60 in a 45 zone, he was back at home, roughly sixteen years old. He was standing beneath the sun, shirtless, huddled over the exposed engine of his dad’s car. In a year, it would be his first. He was smeared with oil and grease. His mom was blasting “The barenaked ladies” on her little radio she'd set up in the kitchen window so that her boys could listen to it with her. He took a step back and let out a happy sound. He turned to glance back at the porch where he spotted his two year old sister slowly climbing to her feet. She had on her clothes on backwards and her shoes were on the wrong feet but she was proud that she'd dressed herself today. She had spilt her bubbles and was now kicking at the mess as if it had offended her somehow. She then met Tyler's eyes and grinned, wide and toothless. 

That seemed so long ago. It hurt thinking about how half of that picture was gone, never to return, and he had been willing to get rid of what was left. He was happy that he had changed his mind. Family was important to him and for far too long now he'd let work get in the way of those values he'd held so dear. It felt right rebuilding what he'd let go of. He'd have his sister back, and he had Ohm to share this broken family with. It was small and struggling, but it was his and he was thrilled to have found it. It was just sad knowing that things had become so unravelled. 

He pulled up to the funeral house and took a shaky breath. He wasn't sure if he could handle one more of these funerals. He was greatly considering that promotion. Maybe the UK wouldn't be so bad. He’d just have to convince Ohm to come with him. That wouldn't be too hard. But that was a worry for another time. He shut off his truck and readied himself to face family members he hadn't spoken to in years.

The chatter was kept quiet and somber. He maneuvered about the sad faces he'd almost all but forgotten. There was uncle Joseph, the one who's taught him how to ride his bike and swimming there was suster Miriah, a woman from the church his grandmother adopted some years ago. He smiled at his aunt's and uncles and exchanged apologies and grievances. He was worn out by the seventh “How are you doing?” He'd been asked. He just wanted to escape and find Sophie. He wished he'd brought Ohm along with him. 

Finally, he found a small room that hid away a piano that played, its broken cries almost unheard. There was one person he knew could play “Down by the river” like that. He wasn't at all surprised when he found his sister clad in black seated on a small and uncomfortable wooden bench. Her hands moved almost without thought about the keys, as if she were dancing. She never heard him come in. He took a second just to appreciate her talent. 

He remembered when she'd turned five they'd bought her a keyboard for Christmas. She'd spent the entire night practicing until she'd mastered “Danny Boy” which she played when Tyler had to go back to camp. He thought it was a dark and morning song to play, yet fitting. He could almost still hear the light laughter of his father, the drunken slurred words of his mother and the smell of cheap candles meant to mimic the smell of holly and cinnamon. She was seated by the tree, headphones in and concentrating hard. She smiled wide and proud when she's finally perfected it. Well, as perfect as a five year old could. She didn't smile too much after their parents died. He wondered if after all of this, could she even remember how to anymore?

She fumbled over the keys and cursed quietly, startling Tyler back to reality and free from the sudden trip down memory lane he didn't want to visit. 

“You've gotten much better since last I've heard,” Tyler said. The girl spun around to see who it was who'd caught her. She stared at her older brother for a while. It hurt him to see oceans of pain swelling in her eyes. She refused to let herself cry. She'd cried enough already. She could cry again later. 

“I've had time to practice.”

Tyler figured now would be a lovely time to humor her. He took a seat besides her and sloppily stumbled through twinkle twinkle Little star. She giggled at how terrible he was. He stood back with faked pride and a wide smile.

”I'm practically the modern Mozart.” 

“Sure you are.” 

“You all packed yet?” she nodded hesitantly. He could feel the sorrow that wafted off of her. He probably could have approached this in a more delicate way. 

“Are you sending me away?”

Tyler took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. They slowly began their walk back out into the parlor room. 

“No. I'm taking you home with me. You ok with that?”

She smiled. Her will to force back the tears suddenly failed and one slipped by. She wasn't sure if this was relief or fear. Her smile insisted it was the first. She could only nod in response. 

“Good. Because my boyfriend just spent a solid week demolishing my office to turn it into your bedroom. I would have hated to tell him that all that was for nothing.” 

She chuckled, “You have a boyfriend? What happened to worshiping the very ground girls walked in just to get some booty?”

“Men can have good booty too.”

“Ew!”

“You wanted to know!”

He missed this, the friendly banter between siblings. So much time had passed between them and they'd fallen out of touch, that much was true. But talking to Sophie was like riding a bike. Years could pass and he'd always know how to pick on her just as she would know how to pick on him. It's not something he could ever forget. It was the sort of thing that made him wonder why he ever stopped. She lead Tyler over to where her bags lay packed. It saddened him to see her things packed up in trash bags.

“Let's go say goodbye to grandma one last time and we’ll get going then.”

“I'd like that.” 

The ceremony wasn't anything spectacular. Funerals hardly ever were. The closed casket was lowered into the earth soundlessly. Several people had complained earlier about the lack of bagpipes. She'd always loved them. Still, no one complained when it was finally over. Tyler wasn't looking forward to the endless drive back home. At least this time about he'd have some good company. 

Marcel sat lazily wrapped across the couch that faced the wall of plants. One was smelling particularly like rot and he couldn't figure out which one it was. He kept the thought in the back of his mind and scrolled through pages of plant food in an attempt to find a better food for them. He looked up when he heard Brock enter the room. Brock pushed his hands away and took a happy seat in Marcel’s lap. Marvel cocked an eyebrow. 

“Oh, we're playful today. I see.”

“Playful, energetic, whatever. Anyway, we should get a dog.”

“A dog?”

Brock nodded. He placed a well timed kiss to Marcel’s temple and ran his fingers through marcel’s curls. He knew that what he was doing was cheating. Marcel couldn't say no when he pulled this bullshit. He could already tell it was working. Marcel watched Brock cautiously. 

“A dog,” he answered. Marcel signed. He loved Brock and this? Adding a dog to this wouldn't be too bad. He sighed happily and moved a bit, pushing Brock off of him.

“Alright. Let's go get a dog.”

“Wait, that worked?”

“That worked. Now let's go, I'm not sure what's open or for how much longer.” 

Brock shot up excitedly and bolted off to follow after Marcel. He couldn't have been happier. 

Ohm couldn't have been happier. The bed was set up, most of the paint was dry, and all he really needed now was to get that last couple of feet. He'd ordered a dresser some days ago and hoped it would have arrived by the time he got back. That on top of making dinner, Ohm had a lot on his plate. Still he had hope. That was until the paint got knocked open while driving home. 

Ohm grumbled as he pushed the cans of paint further into the trunk. He wasn’t too certain this would be done in time any more. Maybe if he moved fast, he could pull off a miracle. He struggled to fish his keys out of his pockets and return to the front of the car. He never made it. Of course, no one would know for several hours. No one saw anything suspicious in the home Depot parking lot. No one saw the strange man approach the doctor, just as no one saw where the doctor went. However, someone did see a dirty looking woman find the empty and seemingly abandoned car, bust the the windows, and take off with her new prize.

Tyler threw open the door with a gentle, “We’re home!” No response was given. The agent figured that his boyfriend was simply asleep again. No matter. He flashed a friend back at his sister.

“Common them, I'll show you to your room.” 

She hesitantly stepped in tow behind him and the two rounded the stairs to what once was the office. Most of the walls had been painted, save for a few spots here and there. The trash bag tarps that covered the carpet were coated. A bed had been set up already in the back of the room where the paint looked the most dry. A Wii do was cracked open and a fan was blowing. Tyler frowned at the sight.

“Odd. He said he'd be done by now.”

He called out for ihm once, twice, and both times he got no reply. He made his way up the stairs, ready to catch his boyfriend unconscious in the bed surrounded by the dogs. He wasn't. He wasn't anywhere within the house. He called Ohm several times.The other never answered. If Tyler wasn’t worried then, he was definitely worried now. Where was he? 

Ohm awoke with a start. Everything hurt. He coughed hard, a soreness in the back of his throat, no, not soreness, dryness, made breathing difficult. It was as if he swallowed something but only partially. He moved to confirm or dismiss this suspicion and Pa iced when his hand was stopped. He lazily moved his head to see what he was caught on now. He wasn't able to figure out when on Earth he'd ever agreed to using handcuffs in the bedroom-

This wasn't the bedroom. 

Concrete and metal structures greeted him. A flock of birds sat off to the side, strangely still. He could hear the distant cries of passing cars as if they were below him. Finally his brain woke up all at once. He was on a roof. Why was he handcuffed to the roof? Was it one hand or both? He rushed to find out and froze the second he finally realized he wasn't alone.

Not even four feet from him, propped up on a backup power generator, was a body. It's skin had been peeled back and away to expose it's gutted chest cavity. The intestines lay in a heap on the floor below it. It still bled, as if this all had been done only seconds ago. The smell begged otherwise. Oh couldn't bring himself to stare at the gore. Quickly he redirected his eyes upward and caught sight of the face. The lips were missing, eyes burned from their sockets, the cheeks stitched back to force a smile. They'd been scalped. Atop their skinless head sat a crown made of barbed wire, feathers, and, much to Ohm’s terror, fingers. 

He gagged harshly. Something stopped him from making and mess. That feeling in this throat grew unbearable. It finally dawned on him that the cause of this was a cloth gag stuffed down his throat. He clawed the thing out and rushed to swallow down the vomit that suddenly climbed up his throat.  
He scrambled to get away. He was unable to get far, the cuffs kept him trapped. 

Slowly, rational thought returned to him. He frantically Pat himself down for his phone. Gone. It was gone! He had no way to call for help. The panic returned, stronger now. He was a sitting duck and no one knew where he was. The cuffs have a sharp tug. He'd nearly forgotten how limited his ability to move was. He glanced down at them, hoping that they were nothing more than those cheap party trick things. He stared down at a sweetly written note, one written in lively loops in red ink on a scrap of thick, tanned paper no larger than a business card.  
Ohm’s hand trembled as he plucked it from it's home.  
~Said the thief to the moon, “I’ll extinguish your light soon.” Run, little rabbit, the owl hunts.

He screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends another edition. Stay tuned as there is more to come...

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I will post a new chapter to this every ten days. It’s odd, I know, but things popped up. I miss my weekly updates already. Thanks for the love and support! I look forward to releaskng the next four of these books to you all so long as you wish it!


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